Holiday in Ridgewood
by Descartre
Summary: After narrowly escaping a dangerous situation, Claire finds herself lost and in the middle of Queens with no way to get home. Everyone's favorite psychotic restorer of time pieces comes to Claire's rescue. Slightly AU non-canon.
1. Ridgewood

What happens when you throw a naive but book-smart politician's daughter and a hot super-powered serial killer in the same fanfic together? Feel free to read and find out!

If you're getting an update about a new chapter addition to this story, I'm sorry. I realize the error of my ways. I had a semicolon problem.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or the characters.

* * *

Claire collapsed on the stiff mattress in her hotel room. Although it was a meager accommodation at best, it was all they had available when she checked in, and she would have slept on a rock after smiling and posturing with her father all day. The life of a politician, what an exciting future she had to look forward to.

Claire was many things, but unintelligent was never one of them, that much was clear to anyone who knew her. She couldn't deny that she was very grateful to have all of the things that she did: a loving family, a robust wallet, and all the well-bred connections that went along with being a U.S. senator's daughter. Feeling guilty about her momentary lack of gratitude, Claire glanced suspiciously at the mini-bar in the corner of her hotel room, just what she needed to unwind after a long day.

An hour and several empty bottles later Claire started to get frustrated, she wasn't feeling relaxed at all! Channel 10, 11, 12, 13, oh we don't get 14… Resigned to do something about it, she picked up her mobile and dialed one of her many socialite "friends." Although this life wasn't all about social benefits, the perks included really did help, particularly when one wanted to get into an exclusive club.

It only took Claire a half hour to get ready, and she was stuck waiting around for Jessica to show up. She sat patiently though, knowing perfectly well that when she did finally get there, they would have a guaranteed good time. She knew money couldn't buy happiness, but it could buy distractions.

* * *

Claire and Jessica walked right past the hundreds of people waiting in line as usual, a privilege they were thankful for, they didn't need the bad press releasing compromising photos of them frequenting a considerably shady joint like The Atomic. Claire didn't bother to look around her when they were finally safe from camera flash inside the club.

All clubs were basically the same to her; the same sex-driven bodies swaying and grinding to the music on the dance floor, the girls paying their way through college by dancing in cages, the bright flashing lights and hammering techno beats that forced their way into your head. No, that would come later… maybe. Claire headed straight to the bar, slammed a couple of bills down on the bar, and told Larry to leave the bottle.

As she sat in the corner, Claire spent what felt like hours trying to get drunk and watching Jessica be pawed at by many able-bodied males. The whole thing was a little barbaric for her tastes. Claire had appraised her friend before, and she couldn't help but be jealous. Jessica was tall, blonde, stacked, and had an elegant face to go with it all; she was the very definition of a blonde bombshell. Claire looked at her comparatively careless appearance and she knew that she wasn't likely to receive any positive attention tonight, so she decided to call it quits.

After she made her way toward the middle of the dance floor, Claire discovered that Jessica was no where to be found. She made the decision to check the bathrooms before heading out on her own. Luckily for her, in the process she ran into a recent acquaintance of hers whom she had met the last time she was out. His name was James Mortimer, and he was tall, dark, and handsome with a great smile and even more charm than she could claim to have.

Up to her current place in life, Claire had never met any one that she could really say had swept her off her feet. As a member of the May family, she had learned to recognize (for the most part) when people were posturing and merely trying to get what they wanted. Her family was little more than a treacherous web that was entirely founded upon deception.

Claire was starved for the right kind of attention, she wanted to know what true affection really felt like. Was it more like passion? Lust? It would have been an easier conclusion to reach if she had known what feelings she actually held for James, and which ones he returned. Her evaluation was entirely clinical really. Since she had virtually no experience in relationships of the romantic persuasion, she didn't really feel qualified to place actual feelings two people may have for each other- it was all qualitative.

* * *

They had talked for a little while and Claire was nearly bored to tears. It really was a nice offer by James to take her home. In fact, the proposal would have been plain silly to refuse, it was nearly impossible to get a cab in that part of town, and especially at that time of night.

Claire considered the ramifications of her actions, she had after all been assured that Jessica had left with his friend. Being fairly positive that her friend was in well enough hands, she was obliged to accept the ride home. This guy was more boring than watching paint dry, and that definitely pointed in the opposite direction of trouble.

Much to her dismay, only ten minutes into driving, James started to get a little too fresh for her liking, particularly since he knew that she had been drinking. Despite whether or not she was feeling the alcohol in her system, Claire was fairly positive that scamming on supposed drunk girls crossed some sort of moral lines somewhere, it was at least morally gray and pathetic. Claire started to get seriously concerned when things took a turn for the worse and James pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. Wherever they were, she was absolutely positive that it was nowhere near Manhattan.

Claire clumsily fumbled around in her purse for her mobile, the movements were awkward as she tried to act casual in the threatening situation. James unbuckled her seat belt and started to slide his too large hands up her thighs, the contact made her cringe. "Stop it!" Claire shouted at him in disgust, and shoved his hands away, but it only made him forceful as he pinned her to the passenger door with his body weight.

"Come on baby girl. I know you've been eying me." Claire struggled beneath him. She couldn't believe that this kind of thing was happening to her of all people. "Don't be a tease Claire!" he growled at her and ripped at the top of her dress. Claire was infuriated with him for exposing her like that.

"Get off me!" she snarled angrily, and when he didn't, she tried her best to summon the strength necessary to bury her fist in his nose. Her punch connected weakly with his jaw as he fought to keep her underneath him.

"You're going to pay for that you bitch!" It was an absolute nightmare, the stuff from bad movies. Claire tried screaming but he clamped his hand over her mouth and brought his face closer to hers so that he could whisper something awful in her ear, "Do you think your daddy will care? Do you think he will care that his dear little daughter got the attention she was looking for, just like the god damn filthy whore you are?" He slapped her hard. "He doesn't give a damn about you. No one cares about you."

A cold feeling set in her stomach as Claire realized that he was right, no one was coming to help. no one could hear them. She refused to let this happen though, she wouldn't let her first time be forced, and especially by this guy. If the way he was speaking to her was any indicator of events to come, it wasn't a sure thing that she would even come out of this night alive if she didn't act fast. It was time for a plan B.

She looked around, deftly scanning the vehicle for things she might be able to use against him. Eureka, the idiot had forgotten to lock the doors. Claire attempted to inconspicuously feel out the door handle with her fingertips. When she found it, she connected her forehead to his nose- hard, and tumbled out from underneath him onto the pavement below.

The rough ground tore at her skin as Claire scrambled to right herself, and she felt as if she had at least twisted an ankle upon landing. As far as Claire was concerned though, this was a lucky conclusion to her night. At first she contemplated trying to maintain some of her dignity by walking away from the vehicle cool and calmly, but she knew better than to not look back. She spared James a last glance. The look in his eyes frightened her. He started to stalk after her with malice and purpose in his steps and she broke out into a run, trying her best to maintain a sprint in high heels. With nowhere to go, Claire ran toward the lights and the sounds of people and traffic ahead of her.

* * *

Once surrounded by the safety of the public, Claire evaded her pursuer by weaving through the bodies that had gathered on the street to see a group of live Jazz performers. Her emotionally tattered body was hardly able to offer much resistance against the sea of shoulders that slammed into her as she used the people around her for cover. Although Claire was reassured by having narrowly escaped what she suspected had been escalating to rape, she found herself in a new predicament- she had absolutely no clue where she was.

Just like in the club, the masses of people, loud music, and lights caused chaos where she was trying to find order. Claire's head was spinning. She needed to get out of the ocean of confusion around her, so she looked to the quietest place she could find on the street, shuffling with an awkward gait because of her broken heel.

Claire found herself wishing that this could have at least happened near home, no one here seemed to bother to notice the distressed girl. Not that any of the snooty entitled residents back home would have helped, but she would have at least felt safer, and someone would have likely notified the police about her state of indecency. There was only one seemingly open shop at the end of the street she had found herself exploring.

Upon leaning forward to knock on the entrance of the drab looking shop, Claire was knocked backward onto her rear by the front door, once again her skin shredding against the unforgiving ground. Gazing up from the sidewalk for the second time that night, her eyes fell upon an outdated but perfectly pressed plaid shirt and vest. Claire allowed her eyes to continue to travel upward until they fell upon a face hidden behind thick black glasses. The man above her wore a surprised and decidedly uncomfortable expression.

After a moment of awkward and inquisitive silence passed between the two loners, the man finally brought it upon himself to speak, "I'm just closing up for the night." Claire saw that he did not extend a hand toward her and heaved herself up from her place on the sidewalk.

Determined to rise above his awful manners, even in her horribly disheveled state, Claire held her hand out to him, "I'm Claire," she said as confidently as she could, giving him a prize-winning smile. Still shaken from the night, her confidence was crushed when he tilted his head slightly and stared at her.

Instead of returning the friendly gesture, the man eyed her extended hand with obvious disdain. Another beat of awkward silence crossed between them, and It occurred to Claire that her hand was probably filthy. The man was very likely still looking for an explanation as to why she was at his door in the first place. She wished she could see his eyes. She was done trying to figure people out for the night, and his large frames that masked his face certainly didn't help.

Claire ashamedly tucked her hand into the folds of her barely there dress, looked at him hopefully and spoke again, "I'm sorry, but I'm a bit lost. I was wondering if you could…" tears began to gather in her eyes as she continued, "tell me where I am please." The tall man looked at her, his face pull of pity. He must have initially taken her for a common streetwalker of sorts, Claire was fully aware that she probably looked like one in her filthy clubbing get-up.

"Well Claire, I hate to tell you this but you're a little outside of Ridgewood," he said, and apology was actually present in his voice. Claire looked up him blankly, so he started again; "Let me guess… mid-town Manhattan?" Claire abashedly admitted to his observation being correct.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked him.

"Well actually… from the way you're dressed, I doubt that most people would come to that conclusion." For the first time that night, Claire looked down at her clothing and grimaced.

"Oh," was all she could manage through her embarrassment, and instantly found a spot on the ground that piqued her interest. Although she would rather they had both just stayed silent, he spoke again.

"It's a long way back to Manhattan Claire, and you don't look in any shape to be traveling on your own. My apartment is just a block over, why don't we go get you cleaned up, and then I'll see what I can do about helping you get back to where you belong." It struck Claire as odd that even though the words should have sounded fatherly, this strange man gave a stranger twist to them… it was somewhat appealing really.

"No. No! I feel fine!" protested Claire, who didn't want to be a further bother to the stately man in front of her. "I'll just call a cab." No need to get herself into further trouble that evening. The man gave her another odd look, and straightened his shoulders.

"Miss," he said, "You're covered in blood." Claire thought that the mock-authoritative way he said this was most endearing. She realized her first impression was wrong, the shop was just the man's facade, he was every bit a little boy playing dress-up in a man's body, a regular Clark Kent. She watched carefully and studied him as he looked at the ground for a second and man started to add to his previous account, "My name is-" shifting his eyes to the right, he fixed his statement, "My name is Sylar."

* * *

Claire stood behind Sylar as he pulled an array of tricks to pry his door open, he didn't look the slightest bit embarrassed when he declared more to himself than anyone else, "I'll have to fix that." Claire stayed close behind Sylar as she followed him into the small apartment, and scrutinized the room. It didn't take her long to notice that from what she could see, the entire place was covered in clocks, large and ornate grandfather clocks, old steam-punk looking devices, and beautiful, priceless watches. It figured that he would live in such an old run-down apartment, the clocks must have been worth a fortune.

Claire concluded that Sylar must have been man of impeccable taste, and as she looked around the rest of the apartment, she did not feel that she had made a false examination. The surfaces and cabinets in Sylar's apartment were of obvious high quality, but they were all very old; from the condition they were in, Claire supposed that Sylar was the kind of man who never failed to use a coaster. She ran her finger across the surface of a small end table and internally smiled, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness," she said quietly but out loud. Sylar heard her.

"That's what my mother used to say," he told her in a far away voice and turned a set of of suspicious eyes on her. There was indeed something strange about this man, Claire almost saw homicidal tendencies in his mannerisms. The impeccable state in which he kept his living quarters, his strange reaction to mention of his mother, his obvious anti-social behavior- they all came together to give her a strange feeling, but it was subdued beneath the warm tone of his voice and his childish sense of confidence. Claire instantly felt ashamed and decided that she had misplaced the connection. Sylar wasn't a serial killer, he had mommy issues, possibly very severe mommy issues, but a trivial affectation nonetheless. After all, who didn't have problems with their parents? It wasn't as if Claire wanted to be a politician, she found the entire field to be utterly tiresome. Now a criminal profiler…That would be an interesting career.

Claire was curious now about what kind of shop Sylar owned, so she asked him the first thing she could think of, "Is that what you do?" Unaware that her thoughts had gone back to his statement about the door, he looked at her confused again; the question clear in his eyes. Claire paused and started again with renewed enthusiasm, "Do you fix things?"

"Yes," as he said it, Sylar gave himself a private smile that she was sure she wasn't meant to see, and quietly continued "I fix things, I even fix people."

Claire was slightly taken aback by the sheer creepiness factor that this guy exuded sometimes. He had less of a tall, dark, and handsome thing going on, and more of a tall, dark, and possibly not all there thing going on. Something about him intrigued Claire though, implored her to stay.

"What do you mean you fix people?"

"Oh." He seemed not to realize that he had said it out loud. "I um..." he stuttered, "Well I went to medical school when I was younger, but had to drop out to take care of my mother."

"But mostly you fix clocks right?"

"Hmm?" He replied absentmindedly, expecting her to continue as he wasn't aware that she even asked him a question.

"You fix clocks," she restated.

"Ah yes, I repair timepieces," he threw back at her flippantly.

Drawn out of his reverie by her nervous shuffle, Sylar smiled at her this time. "I'm sorry, I'll get the bath started up for you miss." He disappeared down the hallway and left Claire in the living room. Claire was thoroughly wigged and even more curious about him. She wasn't used to people simply ignoring her, and frankly it was refreshing to be around someone who wasn't viewing her as either a political pawn or a piece of meat. She hadn't noticed it before, but Claire realized that she actually felt a little offended that Sylar didn't seem to find her remotely attractive, she frowned at the thought and set off toward the sound of running water… Maybe after she'd cleaned up a bit, she thought as she self-consciously twaddled her thumbs.

* * *

Claire stayed in the bathtub until her fingers began to prune and the smell of something delicious and home-cooked started to resonate through the apartment. Even for as long as she lay in the bottom of the tub trying to figure out how she was not even remotely injured, she came up with no answers. She recalled the pain that she had felt when she had escaped from James, the twisted ankle, the torn flesh. None of it made any sense at all.

The bigger mystery was where all the blood came from. If she was not injured, then there shouldn't have been any blood right? It certainly didn't belong to anybody else. Claire briefly wondered if maybe she did actually get drunk, so drunk that she didn't remember what happened. That theory would have made sense had she not been perfectly able to account for every second of the night. Claire thought to herself that she must have done something she didn't know about. She hoped that she was just dreaming, even if everything about the night had felt so real.

Disgusted with herself for getting into such a situation, and humiliated at the thought of James' hands all over her body, Claire picked up a sponge and began to scrub her skin raw until it turned a bright and painful color. The color red inspired vivid images in her head… No not images- memories. Claire distinctly remembered getting pretty beaten up while she was trying to get away from James. She remembered the blood as the skin on her knees gave away to raw flesh. But how was it possible that she wasn't hurt anymore? It was time to get some answers, and take matters into her own hands.

Eying Sylar's straight razor on the sink, Claire stretched out to grab it, she held it in her hand for a moment and then grasped the blade as hard as she could. She cried out, definite pain there! Blood started to pour from her hand and turned the water around her a light red. At least it was official, she wasn't dreaming, dreams couldn't hurt so badly.

Almost instantaneously, Sylar's concerned voice could be heard from just outside the bathroom door, "Miss?" he tried, receiving no answer, "Claire! Are you alright in there?" She thought that he sounded as if he were standing at the opposite end of a tunnel, and she became confused from the rapid loss of blood. After a few seconds however, Claire stopped feeling light-headed and looked at her hand again. Her eyes widened in amazement as she watched the deep red gashes on her hand cover themselves with skin. The angry and fresh wound almost immediately scarred over and eventually healed itself completely. Her hand now looked as if no wound had ever been there in the first place.

"Yeah…" Claire breathed, disbelief staining her voice, "Yeah I'm fine."

* * *

Claire sat at the small dining table tucked away in Sylar's kitchen. She had a sick, unsettling feeling in her stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with her current state of hunger. Her host placed a plate in front of her and gave her a dazzling smile, albeit a purely obligatory one.

"This smells delicious," Claire told him. "It's refreshing to eat something other than sushi and fillet mignon for once."

"No, you wouldn't be likely to find sushi around here," he told her, "well not edible sushi anyway." He smiled slightly at his joke and continued to watch her eat; his eyes followed her every movement.

Claire smiled as she savored a bite, "Yep! Good old fashioned home cooking, just like mom used to make." Sylar shifted uncomfortably at this, but no more than a second later he froze as a realization hit. Sylar looked at her long and hard before opening and closing his mouth a few times, as if he were trying to figure out the right words to use. Claire glanced up to measure his response, but was taken aback by the pale shade that had washed across his face.

"Sylar, what's wrong?" she asked him cautiously. He was looking at her as if she were some sort of alien.

Still staring straight at her, Sylar began with just her name, "Claire." He paused, looking very thoughtful. A look of understanding came over him before he continued, "Claire… As in Claire Bennet; the illegitimate daughter of the infamous Dennis May?" He more stated the fact than asked her.

Claire was caught off guard by his sudden declaration. She dropped her fork and pierced the silent air as it plunked to the plate below. She had hoped that her father's career wouldn't come up- he wasn't exactly a favorite among most intelligent people. They studied each other's guarded expressions carefully.

In an attempt to get her to relax from her tight shouldered position at the edge of her chair, Sylar hastily began with an apology. But as Claire rose up from her chair, he surprised them both by forcefully shoving her back into place at the table. As if recognizing what he had just done and the line he had just crossed, Sylar grew wide eyed and immediately ripped his hands from her body. He backed up until he hit the wall behind him.

"I… I'm" he stuttered.

"I don't like it when strangers put their hands on me." She eyed him dangerously, positively seething.

"I'm sorry Miss Bennet!" Sylar exclaimed. "It's just that I'm not used to having company." Claire started toward the front door.

"Clearly!" Claire cried, "I can see why most would avoid such a mistake."

"No! Miss Bennet please," he protested. "Claire" her name rolled off of his tongue like a song. "Claire wait. I was just surprised is all. Why didn't you tell me who you were when we first met?" The tone of his voice made her pause, he sounded offended.

Looking over her shoulder she clarified, "I did." With a little more moxie she continued to tell him, "I told you my name is Claire," with carefully placed emphasis on her name. A smug look was cast upon her pretty face she spoke the rest of her piece, "Besides, it would seem that neither of us have been completely forthcoming with our true identities. So tell me," she demanded as she spun around and stalked up to him, "What is your real name?"

Sylar took a moment to recover his composure and looked at her stonily, "My name is Sylar," he stated clearly.

"No." She said with a tone of finality, "It's not. Now tell me who you are. No lies."

"Fine," the man spat. "My name is Gabriel Gray".

"See that wasn't so hard, now was it Gabriel?" Claire said; a fake smile accompanying her sour tone.

"How did you know?" he questioned her with a hard and searching look.

"I'm majoring in behavioral science," she replied simply. "Your eyes told me that your mind was fabricating an auditory memory. You should be more careful."

Gabriel's eyes flickered with interest, "That's an interesting gift you have there Claire. Such talents, they're rare. I suppose you want to know why I gave you the name Sylar."

"Clearly."

"Maybe later," he smirked. "Your food is getting cold, you should eat. I'm going to have my turn in the shower now. I'll know that you trust me if you're still here when I get back." Gabriel retreated to the bathroom. Claire gaped at his audacity. No doubt he actually thought she was going stay.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Claire followed him.

"If you'd like to take your chances out there-" Claire glanced behind her at a window that revealed the dark street with hooded figures barely visible in the buildings' shadows. "Feel free. It matters very little to me," and at that he closed the door a few inches from her face and disappeared.

* * *

At some point during the time Claire swept around the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, Gabriel seemed to materialize behind her clad in nothing but a towel, toothbrush dangling from between his lips.

"Do you make it a habit to poke around in other people's kitchens as a guest?" His tone was friendly and amused.

Speechless for a moment, Claire toyed with the clean plate she held in her hands and nearly dropped it, "I'm sorry. I was just trying to-" Gabriel leaned around her and spat out a mouthful of toothpaste in the kitchen sink. Claire immediately stopped speaking and froze at the new proximity he offered, momentarily distracted by the unexpected heat and electricity that radiated off of his well muscled chest and broad shoulders. Her eyes involuntarily followed the dark trail of hair extending down… down… down his long torso to the attractive v revealed by the towel that he had slung dangerously low around his hips.

Fully aware of her examination, Gabriel cleared his throat and gave a straight, white toothed grin closely following look of horror she wore upon realizing that she had been discovered checking him out.

Claire attempted to recover from her blunder with a breathless and obvious statement. "You're not wearing glasses," she attempted innocently. That was innocent! A completely non-sexual observation… Right? She thought to herself as she powerlessly tried to avoid being entranced by the warm depths of his eyes. She was thankful to be ripped back into reality at the sound of his reply before she could embarrass herself too thoroughly.

"They help with my work, but aren't actually necessary for me to wear all of the time," Gabriel explained self-consciously. The confidence he gained from her obvious appraisal apparently long-since disappeared as he awkwardly distanced himself from her and the sink. Gabriel was well aware that the glasses hid his dark and unusually thick brows, a detrimental flaw which he was convinced prevented his face from being considered handsome, to any extent.

Claire found herself thinking just the opposite. Without his face hidden by the large spectacles, she could easily admire the hard square of his jaw, full lips, straight nose, and the dark set of expressive eyes that made him so interesting. 'So that's why', she surmised. Whether his name was Sylar or Gabriel, it didn't really matter to her, he was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had never before been so attracted to someone, and realized that she finally knew what it felt like- the electricity, the heat, it was like playing with fire. The danger she recognized behind his eyes no longer seemed out of place, it seemed right, and he seemed right.

"So um… Claire." Gabriel was the first to break the spell. "I should probably go get dressed. I guess you can stay here tonight if you want to. We can wash your clothes and you can return home in the morning."

"Sure," she almost whispered, "I'd like that."

"Yes. You must be beat, I'll go set up my bed for you. I'll take the couch," Gabriel sputtered as he hurriedly made his way to the only bedroom.

"Thank you," she said a little too late.


	2. Run

Hi again! Chapter 2!

* * *

Claire woke up late the next morning with a loud yawn, stretching in her borrowed and oversized button-up shirt. The sounds of cars and kids playing in the street leaked through the paper thin walls of Gabriel's apartment. The first thing she thought to do was to check her phone. Claire thought that surely someone would have been worried about her, and she honestly did not know whether to be thankful or disappointed when she found that she had no missed calls, just a single text from Jessica. She opened it and read, "Hey sexy girl! I heard you went home with James last night. How was it… or should I say he? ;) Call me."

Rolling her eyes, Claire threw her phone back into her purse and made her way to the bathroom, she was confused at not seeing Gabriel on the couch where she had left him. Should have woken up earlier, she told herself and shrugged before continuing her morning ritual. Hung up in the bathroom was a much more modest outfit than she had on the previous night. It figured that Gabriel wouldn't approve of her walking around in such a thing, especially in the daytime. She tried imagined him picking out something for her at the store and found the idea positively laughable, and figured he probably asked someone for their assistance, as his choice wasn't as terrible as she would have thought.

Claire thought of Gabriel as she worked a brush through her hair and explored his apartment in depth. She started with the living room and laughed to herself when she discovered that he did not even own a television. In it's stead there were several bookshelves lining the walls of the small room. She looked at the all titles and authors, trying to figure out how he had organized them, but frowned when she found that she was wrong on both accounts. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the order in which he had placed them, but for someone prim as the man who owned the apartment, she knew that there had to be one, she just wasn't clever enough to see it.

Frustrated at her failure, she continued her investigation with an old phonograph cabinet she found in the corner. Claire was much more pleased to discover that Gabriel's records seemed to be sorted by mood. He had a collection that even she envied, and she had spent the last three years refining her own music library. His taste was quirky and eclectic, composed mostly of only the obscure groups that actually had talent, missing were those 'must have' albums that everyone else seemed to have in their library. Claire concluded that this collection must have been for his listening pleasure only. Immediately she felt guilty for snooping around in his things, clearly he trusted her not to, as he had left her in his apartment alone.

She decided it would be best to remove herself from temptation before she came across something he didn't want her to see. Everybody had their secrets. After living as a Petrelli for the last couple of years, Claire knew more about discretion than most would. The secret to tact was the less you said, the better off everyone would be.

Claire made her way back to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and upon giving herself a once over in the bathroom mirror, nodded with satisfaction. The white cotton of the dress Gabriel had chosen for her contrasted beautifully with her lightly tanned skin and her golden locks fell across her shoulders in loose waves. It felt strange not wearing makeup though, it made her look and feel so innocent and young. When she attempted to make her way out the front door, she found simply opening it to be a taxing chore, let alone trying to lock the damn thing. Gabriel had made the task look at least half manageable. Despite her trouble, she eventually made it out in one piece.

* * *

As she made her way through the front door of "Gray and Sons," Claire tried to emulate Gabriel's manner of walking silently about. Once she was actually inside, she had a look around, the place was utterly fantastic. All around her clocks were ticking and buzzing; each one had its own distinct sound, but they were all perfectly synchronized. From every direction, one could see flashes of gold and silver as the true collector's pieces glittered behind their cases. She had never seen anything like it.

The actual shop itself was old and decrepit. Old wooden shelves and glass cases being used as counter-tops covered the walls of the small business. As expected, in accordance with Gabriel's personality, everything was immaculate and considerably well-kept; Claire wondered fleetingly if he had OCD. She considered his creepiness and came to the conclusion that if he was some kind of serial killer, he would probably be a very clean one. She pictured him washing the blood from his hands in his kitchen sink and shuddered at the thought, she promptly dismissed the image from her mind and quietly made her way toward a door at the back. She assumed it was where he would be if he wasn't at the front of the shop.

Claire clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight before her when she entered the room. Gabriel was bent over a work bench with a large loupe lowered over his thick glasses. As silly as he looked while wearing the strange contraption, it was not what had caught her eye. Gabriel's hands both rested on the table as miscellaneous cogs and springs hovered above the desk, the watch they belonged to seemingly fixing itself.

Claire rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times, she made a strong effort to convince herself that she was just seeing things, that she was not actually looking at what she thought was taking place before her. Claire considered her own newly discovered oddity, and decided what she was currently seeing was on a whole new level of strange. She healed fast, sure, but things did not float in the air, and they certainly did not repair themselves without assistance.

Deciding that it was not her vision that failed her, but reality, Claire backed out the door, in the moment forgetting to be as quiet as she had been before. Her foot hit the door and made a hollow sound that immediately caused Gabriel to look up, the parts all falling to the table simultaneously. Claire expected Gabriel to look horrified at her discovery, but instead he looked furious at her intrusion. It all happened at once, too quickly for her to react.

Gabriel threw out his hand in front of him, and Claire was instantly pinned to the door behind her by the same invisible force that had just been applied to the watch. Her head cracked painfully with the impact when her skull connected with the hard wood behind her. Gabriel seemed impassive to the blood that was now streaming generously down to the floor.

"I have to say Claire, it's a pity that I'll have to do this. Something about you… Well it just seemed special Claire." Gabriel's voice had dropped to a low and dangerous note. He actually sounded like the insane and unforgiving murderer he truly was, but the way he said her name was unchanged from the night before. As Gabriel advanced on her, Claire looked at him without fear, only curiosity and amazement were plain on her face.

"How are you doing that?" She asked excitedly, her mouth slightly open as she marveled at the man in front of her.

Gabriel looked like he was truly going to regret what he was about to do, but more than anything he looked inconvenienced. In an annoyed voice he began to say, "I'm not really about giving speeches before I kill someone Claire. It takes away from the main event."

It was Claire's turn to be annoyed, the discovery that she had made about herself the night before still fresh in her mind and lending her newfound confidence. Though in an effort to avoid the inevitable pain, she pleaded in her most convincing tone, "Come on Gabriel… You don't need to kill me, I won't tell anybody. Besides! Don't you think people would come looking for me?" Who was she kidding? She wasn't fooling either of them. At that very moment, she wasn't afraid of the things he could do to her. In the last day, her world had been turned upside down, this was almost expected.

Gabriel abruptly released his telekinetic hold and she dropped to the floor as he appeared to idly consider her proposal. She attempted to keep the act going. Remembering that she was supposed to be injured, Claire reached up to her hair and pretended to nurse her injury, but then Gabriel seemed to notice something, and he gave Claire a predatory grin. With an equally sadistic and mocking tone as before, he continued his performance as well.

"Why Claire! I thought you'd gone and carelessly hurt your head. Don't tell me it's healed already. Is it true Claire? Are you special too?" The man before her faked false enthusiasm.

"You can't kill me Gabriel" She declared, allowing the victimized act to slip from place. Truthfully she had no idea if he could kill her or not. All Claire knew at this point was that she could heal with more speed than she had believed was humanly possible. She had not considered how far the ability would extend, what the limits were exactly.

This time Gabriel wrapped his real hand around her throat and held her in place, extending his index finger of his other hand.

"Please Claire, call me Sylar."

A feeling of foolishness washed over her, and with no more time for begging, Claire resigned herself for what was to come. She was overcome by excruciating pain as Sylar somehow sawed her skull open without an instrument. He gently laid her down atop a large table and tenderly placed the half of her skull that he had sawed off near the top of the work surface.

Claire started to feel weak, but within seconds of her scalp being removed, she discovered that she couldn't feel any pain. Claire started to cry slightly. She was dying, of that she was certain. If she was going to go out this way, she wanted answers.

Her voice was weak and full of fear as she asked the man with his hands still probing around in her brain, "What are you doing to me?"

Without pulling away from his work he replied, "Looking for answers".

"Funny… I'm looking for answers too." Claire continued, "Why don't I feel anything?"

Sounding as if her voice was no more than a distraction to his work, Sylar gave her a curt answer, "No nerve endings."

"In the brain you mean?" She asked weakly as she fought to keep her eyes open.

He continued to treat her head like a broken time-piece as he became fascinated with the fleshy mechanism, and started to muse aloud, "An amazing thing of machinery it is, and how much of it do we actually use? Ten percent… maybe twenty... Imagine the answers we'd have with a hundred percent."

Claire was close to losing consciousness as he absentmindedly continued his speech. "Why is there evil? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How do we make love stay? All these answers, they're all… they're all right here."

Disgusted and frightened, Claire questioned him, "Are you going to eat it?"

Clearly amused by the suggestion, Sylar took a quick break from his work to lean over and look straight into Claire's eyes; his breath feeling unnaturally hot against her rapidly cooling skin.

"Eat your brain?" Sylar smiled lightly, and chastised her as if she were a child, "Claire that's disgusting."

With his hands still buried in her head, he resumed his search and let out a relieved sigh.

"There it is," he breathed reverently.

At that, he stood to clean up the mess he had made in his workshop. He wondered if she would grow back the top half of her skull and her scalp… how long it would take her hair to grow out? He quite liked her hair, at the chance that it wouldn't, he opted to carefully place the cap of her skull back on her head, carefully lining up her hair line; it would be wasteful to spoil such beauty.

As the flesh on Claire's head began to knit itself back together, she gasped and looked at him, filled with life again. Claire was confused to say the very least; she felt defiled and disgusting, and she had a death wish.

"What about me?" She asked, "Aren't you going to kill me?"

Sylar gave her the same pitiful look he had given her when they had met the night before.

"Poor girl" he said, "There's so much about yourself that you don't understand."

Then he took on an excited and fascinated tone. "Your brain is not like the others Claire- You are not like the others," he stated with all the clarity he could muster.

"You're different, you're special, and I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. You can never die, and I guess now neither can I."

"You sick bastard," Claire seethed.

"Don't be like that dearest Claire," Sylar spoke gently as he swept the back of his hand over her cheek, "Claire-bear…"

"We can be together forever. You won't have to be alone."

It hadn't occurred to Claire before that she was virtually immortal with this new development her body had made. Everything that was happening to her was so surreal. Claire gave her own personal psychopath an incredulous look, and found some strength in the pure hatred she held for him at his violation.

"You disgust me. What has convinced you that I would actually want to spend the rest of eternity with you, I have no idea. But let's just clear that up now." Claire sat up and spat through tightly clenched teeth, "No way in Hell could I ever be with you."

Sylar's face fell upon hearing her words, "I was hoping you would say something different Claire. I don't want to put holes in your brain, it's so beautiful as it is- Just as beautiful as you." Sylar smiled again.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? You sick son of a bitch."

"Claire I can't have you making such lewd comments about my mother. In fact I'd rather you didn't make such negative statements at all. It's okay though. I can fix you."

"What are you going to open up my head again?" Claire ground out.

"Oh no Claire, that won't be necessary, although I'm flattered at your assumption that I would be so accomplished in the field of neurology. To be perfectly honest with you I'm not quite sure how this…" his voice dropped to a lower octave as he said the next word, "power works. There were some people who tried to take me in for testing, they wanted to lock me up in a cell and cut me open. It might have worked if they had a way to keep me from using my powers, but I've taken them before from people with no help, and it really was no trouble to do it again. Imagine being able to erase a person's memory with only your mind…"

"As much as I enjoy your oh so fascinating monologues- If you plan on keeping me your prisoner, I'd honestly prefer that you just make me forget about it now. You and I both know that I won't live in your sick little world willingly."

"Alright Claire, have it your way."

* * *

Unconsciousness or whatever she was supposed to have felt never came for Claire, it was something else entirely. A loud resounding crack rang through the small room, and Claire found herself looking at Sylar again, his body piled limply on the floor and a bullet lodged in his brain. Claire only knew of one man in the world who could shoot like that, and her suspicions were proven correct as she heard the most welcome sound in the world, the voice of her adoptive father, Noah Bennet.

Noah looked pointedly at Claire, "Does he have your power?" he asked.

Unable to form words at the sudden turn events had just taken, Claire just stared at her father with watery eyes and her mouth hanging open.

"Damn it!" exclaimed Noah, seeing the line of dried blood on her forehead, he laid out his urgent instructions, "Claire listen to me. I need you to get out of here. Just run, it doesn't matter where, just keep running."

"Dad…" Claire didn't want to leave her father alone with a man who could do such horrible things with his mind alone. Unconscious or not, to her knowledge, Sylar was still the most dangerous man in the world. "No. No I'm staying with you," she protested.

"Now Claire!" Noah's harsh tone was laced with worry. It was something Claire had never witnessed in her father before, and she knew that she had to listen to him. She kept her concerned eyes on her father as she backed out of the room and nodded, turning on her heel to run away, just as he'd asked. There was no person on the planet that Claire trusted more than her father, and he was serious, it helped with the guilt that burned away in her chest at leaving him alone with Sylar.

* * *

Claire ran for miles, dozens of miles, and she kept on running until she found the ocean. The quiet soothing sounds of waves no longer provided her comfort though, they were harsh and sinister now. Claire would have kept on running, but she had no idea where to go. Who could she trust now? So she resigned herself to staring blankly at the darkening sky, waiting for her dad to come and tell her everything was going to be alright. He would find her, he always did.

It could have been hours that Claire sat in the same spot on the Beach. She wished she had some sort of physical reaction to her current state... pain, cold, exhaustion… something, anything would be welcome at that point. She could do nothing but sit and wait, sit and worry, and speculate as to where her father was; though she also found herself wondering what he had done with Sylar.

"Claire-bear…"

"Dad!" Claire crashed into him and wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight embrace. "I was so scared! What happened? Are you okay?" Claire fired off a million questions at once.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart," Noah started, as he cradled his daughter's face against his chest, comfortingly stroking the top of her head. "It's not over yet, there's a lot that I need to tell you, about who you are, what you can do, and why I'm involved."

"It doesn't matter" Claire backed up a few steps so she could look her father in the face, shaking her head through her tears and choking on her words as they came out.

"Stop it Claire, it really does; you'll learn why soon enough. Let's go get you something to eat, okay honey? You must be starving." Claire wanted to protest, but she also wanted answers, and this was probably to only chance she would have at getting them.

* * *

After they had been seated in a dark corner of a local Indian restaurant, Noah gave his daughter a troubled look.

"I always wondered when we would have this conversation, though I'd hoped the day would never come." He began uncomfortably.

"I think you know by now Claire, that I don't actually work for a paper company."

"Most paper salesmen don't carry guns," she pointed out.

"Smart girl."

"So who are you really then?"

"I'm your father, Claire."

"You know what I mean."

"Are you ready for a long story?"

"We have time, and you definitely owe me an explanation at this point. Don't you think?"

"I started working for the company after my first wife was killed by a man like Sylar. At first all I cared about was revenge. I had it set in my mind that all of 'them' were exactly the same. Though the longer I worked for the company, the more I discovered about the reality of the situation."

"Which is?" Claire encouraged her father to continue.

"With matters such as these, the only way to maintain control is by being as morally gray as possible. The minute I discovered this, I became a company man. We used the front of Primatech Paper to hide our facilities."

"You said 'them', how many are there?"

"Hundreds Claire, hundreds, maybe even thousands. Many of them are just like Sylar- volatile and driven mad by the discovery of power. Most of them do not feel that the laws of man apply to them. They go where they please, do what they want, and they kill who they want Claire. My job is to make sure that they don't hurt anyone. "

Claire studied a painting on the far wall. She was trying to avoid the fact that he had apparently failed at his work. Though technically Sylar hadn't hurt her, her father didn't know that, and she still wasn't entirely sure she wanted him to know either. The last day had left her with a sense of distrust for everyone around her, including people she loved. Since she had began studying psychology, she had not failed to successfully read a person, but things were making less sense than ever before, and that was saying something.

Noah spoke slowly and ruefully, "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I couldn't prevent you from getting hurt." Noah looked down at his hands which he had folded together.

"I'm fine! You still saved me… Look at me!"

When Noah returned his eyes to her face, Claire threaded her fingers through her fathers and looked meaningfully at him.

"I hate to think of what could have happened to me if you hadn't shown up when you did."

"There's more Claire. The company has a list of people with abilities like yours. Your name is on that list, and I've been trying to get it off for years- That's where I have been all of this time. That is the reason I still work for Primatech. I have done some bad things in my efforts to keep you safe and out of their hands, but the time has come to deal with the reality of things."

Noah took a deep breath and continued, "Before me and your mother had adopted you by request of the company, they had found you in the remains of a tragic fire. Your ability helped you to survive, though it had not fully developed yet. It seems that adrenaline fuels the mutated cells, and unlocks their capabilities. When the company told me that I was to adopt you, it was not without purpose. As a devoted agent, they believed I would surrender you over to them if your abilities were ever to manifest."

"Is that why you sent me away to live with my other father?"

"Yes Claire, that is exactly why. The company has found you though, and they will be coming to collect you. They want to keep you prisoner, for you to be their test subject."

'No wonder Gabriel had gone insane and picked up a new identity,' Claire thought. She presently viewed his perceived psychotic antics as a reasonable reaction to finding out that people had such dark intentions for him; though she had a feeling his problems extended far beyond what she was feeling at present. "How do we make love stay?" She remembered him asking, and in hindsight; it was the best question she had ever heard placed.

"Are you here to take me in too?" Claire's survival instincts started to kick in, "Am I just your test subject? Is that it?" She was seething now.

Claire had not anticipated this as the outcome of her timely rescue, and in that moment she was sure that she would have been in better hands with the psychotic serial killer who had just raped her mind not a day before.

"There is another way Claire. It's the only way for you to be safe."

Claire calmed down a notch, "What do I have to do?" she asked the composed and unfamiliar stranger currently who was sitting less than three feet across from her.

"You have to come and work for the company. If you go to them willingly, they will still use you for your ability, but they won't lock you up. I promise Claire." Noah tried to reach her eyes with his own, but Claire refused to look at him.

"And if I refuse?" Her entire world had been flipped upside down. It figured that her newfound invincibility meant something entirely different than what she had originally though. She had expected liberation, to live a free life without boundaries, but instead she would end up a lab rat- just a lab rat with a bigger cage than most.

"Claire honey, I love you, and I just want what's best for you. However, I have been working for the company almost twenty years now, and I am certain of one thing… The company will keep sending more people after you if you run. When they find you, and they will, they will not show you any mercy. Please Claire… It would be best if you cooperate and give them what they want."

"…You want me to hunt my own kind?" Disbelief colored Claire's tone, "To kill, and torture them?" How could you ask such a thing of me?" With obvious disdain, Claire went on, "Do you really hate me that much?"

"No! Claire-bear, that's-"

"Fine! Fine I will do it. Just please… Do me a favor and stop calling me that. You're not my dad anymore, I don't know you. I never did." Claire deeply wished that she could cry. Weeping would have been the natural, healthy reaction to this newly received information about her life. "I won't forgive you." He nodded in sad acquiescence. That was the last thing either of them said that night.

* * *

Tbc.


	3. Sylar

Chapter 3

Woohoo! Sylar's back.

* * *

If Claire had thought Sylar was strange when they had first met, she really came to realize that his idiosyncrasies were nothing compared to the level of bizarre that surrounded her current location. All the employees on the entry floor of Primatech Paper Co. gave her theatrical grins as she walked in, several receptionists offering her candy as she waited for her Noah in the waiting room of Primatech. She thought to let her father know that their act was overbearing and a bit transparent, but she thought the better of it. The sooner this company was discovered, and destroyed… the better.

Claire wondered how many years of her life she would spend enslaved as an agent for the company. She tried to guess the length of time it would take her to learn how to shoot as good as the legendary Noah Bennet, expert Bag and Tagger. She was nothing short of offended that he didn't believe she could piece together the bits of information he had told her about the company, and about the job she would be doing for them.

If were to be completely honest with herself, Claire would have to admit that she was at least a little bit intimidated, and definitely restless. She was constantly either adjusting her clothes or picking at her still well manicured nails, and had very little in mind as to how she was to behave. Not knowing what else to do, Claire looked toward the elevators on the back wall, expecting to see her father emerge, she was disappointed. Instead she was met with the eyes of a few overly-accommodating receptionists. It was creepy, and it was frustrating, but Claire had always been an understanding sort of person. Just as was the case with herself, these women had absolutely nothing to do; after all, they were merely posing as accountants.

In attempts to give both herself, and the supposed employees a rest, Claire walked up to the front desk and told one of the women who she was, "Hi, my name is Claire. Claire Bennet." Apparently employees for the company had little to no interaction with the desk receptionists, because the woman in question looked at her without recognition. She tried again, "I'm actually here for an interview of sorts…" she trailed off leaving room for interpretation. The woman instantly dropped the smile from her face, and she looked away from Claire to attend to the exhilarating game of Solitaire that she had been playing. Yep, definitely creepy.

Noah had come back into the lobby before Claire had the chance to reclaim her seat and looked at her suspiciously, obviously seeing and noting that she was not in the same place she had been when he left. "Just making conversation," she shrugged.

"Right…" he replied, still skeptical. "I've prepared my people for your arrival in Level 5 Claire."

Claire assumed that they would be taking the same Elevator that Noah had taken to leave the first time, but instead they went down a narrower hallway with a large metal door at the end. The sign above the exit proclaimed it to be for emergency use only, however inside they went. Claire thought to herself that the company's façade depended almost entirely on the ignorance of the everyday man; it wasn't actually that well concealed when one really considered that it was a supposed top secret facility.

After descending five long flights of concrete stairs, Noah stopped at another inconspicuous door. Claire made sure to carefully map out in her mind what she had so far seen of the Primatech building; if she for some reason had to make a hasty retreat, she wanted to be ready. Claire had always been the smartest girl with the worst luck and knack for trouble. It was so like her to be rescued by the same man (who she sought out mind you!) who would molest her in a manner of speaking the very next night. Somehow molest didn't seem like the right word to Claire- It was dirty and compromised where Sylar was clean and vigilant. The memory of his bare chest and fresh scent wound its way into her mind, and Claire wanted to slap herself for thinking of Sylar in a towel again. That's it! She decided. She was damaged, that was the only… and her train of thought completely dropped off the tracks when she noticed where she was.

In accordance with the large number five printed on the cement wall to her left in big block letters, Claire assumed that this was her future job site: Level 5. The wide concrete hallway Claire found herself in closely resembled something out of a science fiction movie. It looked as though it were cross between a prison, and a top-secret lab. The wall to the right drew one's eye down the seemingly endless corridor, and it was adorned only with metal doors and large glass windows that covered the entire length. Claire tried to look through the window closest to her, but it was completely black inside the room, the visibility completely obscured by the shadows.

Noah pressed a button on the wall beside her, and one by one the dark rooms were illuminated.

"If we're going to be working together here Claire, you're going to have to talk to me sooner or later."

"What is this place?" she asked as she sorrowfully eyed the docile looking men, all strapped down to identical steel gurneys; they all had various assortments of tubes protruding from their veins, and it seemed that they were being pumped full of various drugs and fluids. Claire was positively horrified at the inhumanity of it all. "This is disgusting…" she said quietly to herself.

"Level 5 is where we keep all of the high-profile criminals when we bring them in."

"Keep them?" Claire scoffed, "You mean run your sick, sadistic tests on them?"

"In a manner of speaking," Noah looked annoyed at his daughter's antics. "Don't let them trick you into thinking they're like you Claire, they're dangerous." He sustained, "The biggest difference is that you've never hurt anybody Claire, these men take pleasure in it. Many of them have killed their own families." There was a nagging suspicion that crept around in her thoughts; it told her that the entire setup was complete bullshit. Of course they would be monsters after going through this.

"It would seem that you're trying to turn me into one of them. A killer I mean; so really what does it matter whose side you're on?"

"What we do here isn't good or evil Claire. Some people may choose to classify it as cruel; but it's because they refuse to understand the importance of our work. You see, People are fragile Claire- Like tea cups. All around the world things are happening, and they don't want to deal with it. The world is changing, and we're all part of the same puzzle."

"You sound like Sylar, but I suppose that's what a place like this does to people. It destroys their humanity."

* * *

When you're fighting for your life and your own freedom, you catch on quickly. Within the first month of Claire's work with the company, she had already managed to become an expert marksman. She was proficient with knives, and had entered well into the realm of martial arts. Claire thought that her father had been proud of her when she won her first trophy in cheerleading, even more so when she was accepted into Columbia University, but this was different.

Claire's father looked at her in a completely new light, like she was a different person, and she every bit felt as if she had become such. Where Claire lacked energy and life in everyday activities, she had made up for it in the way that she exuded confidence, and had even begun to develop a sharp killer instinct.

The only real chip in Claire's working for the company so far was having to lie about her work; her life even. In order to keep her identity a secret, Claire had to lead a perfectly normal life outside of her job. Unfortunately for her, transferring to Columbia and living on campus wasn't as trouble-free as she thought it would be. She still had overbearing roommates who liked to question her whereabouts, boring classes, and the necessary physical education clause.

The more she trained, the harder it was for her to be around people. Claire found herself overreacting to the slightest irritations, and more often than could be healthy, contemplating exactly how much force it would take to shove her pencil through their eye without reaching the brain. More often than that, she supposed it would be much easier to put a knife in their belly, just less fun. She couldn't believe that she was actually eager to start killing people, to relieve some of the stress that had compiled itself.

In order to rekindle the acceptable kind of pre-company weirdness, Claire decided to try out for the cheerleading squad. Although the long practices and drive from Primatech Research to Columbia everyday were a bit daunting, they weren't anything compared to her days at the company, and she was thankful for the separation. Claire couldn't deny that she secretly enjoyed the perfectly normal looks she received from her peers while dressed in her raciest uniform to date. Although it was a strange way to live, Claire had to admit that at least she was getting settled into the natural swing of things.

* * *

Claire reclined in her office chair. Her black patent leather clad feet were thrown up casually on her desk and she stared up at the ceiling as she went to work sharpening her knives. What a slow day. Her father hadn't pushed her to anything too monstrous… yet, but Claire expected that the time wasn't too far off; after all, he wasn't training her for nothing. Mostly she had learned how to maim, torture, threaten, and track people, but she longed for something with less clean-up. Three knocks took Claire out of her thoughts. "Speak of the devil," she said aloud as she got up to rip her door open. Claire looked up at the face of the man in question.

"Hi there, sorry boss I didn't get in those TPS reports." Her tone was dull and sarcastic. Time healed most wounds, that was common knowledge, but it would take a much longer time before she fought off this figurative virus. There were two options: kill the host, or kill the catalyst. Both options were satisfactory in her mind.

"Hello Claire." Having grown accustomed to Claire's animosity, Noah just learned ignore it. "It's time for you to prove your loyalty to the company Claire."

"Oh yeah? You mean besides me spending every second of free time here? How am I supposed to pretend I'm normal if I'm never even in my dorm?"

"Claire I told you what the other option was." She bit her lip as she heard him say the words for fifth time; she had been counting, which wasn't very hard to do considering how little she and her adoptive father actually spoke these days.

"Both such fantastic choices," Claire ground out. "What? Am I going to have to kill somebody? Do I have to kill you? Do you think I will enjoy it?" Claire glared at her father and slowly moved forward with every word she said; she was livid. Her fire was immediately dampened when he didn't take more but a step back from her.

"No Claire, you don't have to kill anybody today. That's hardly a test of loyalty. Anyone can kill if given the proper motivation." Claire shivered slightly at that, despite having little reservations about violence in the recent past.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"We're moving Sylar up to level 4 to run some more tests. He won't exactly be eager to go. You're going to convince him."

Claire scoffed and shook her head in disbelief, "and how am I supposed to do that exactly?"

"However you see fit, use violence if necessary. Normally we would just drug him and continue take him up there ourselves, but we can't have any drugs in his system for this particular test. You are to encourage him to be cooperative and keep him that way until we're done."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" Claire was apprehensive about the whole situation. Although she would never admit it to anyone, even herself, she still had dreams about Sylar. Sometimes they were nightmares, but sometimes they were… well, not.

"You are the only one who knows Sylar on a remotely personal level. He has it in his mind that you two have a connection. You're also indestructible, so if anything does go wrong, we won't lose anybody."

"Great," she chirped like a living Barbie. "The company has its own Sylar-proof doll to play with." Noah gestured for Claire to follow him out the door. "Lead the way."

* * *

Claire panicked. She was alone with Sylar again, in an enclosed room- A small and locked enclosed room. In all actuality, she had not yet seen Sylar since she'd been with Primatech Research, and had often wondered what had happened to him. She was pacing back and forth across the room, just like a lion in a cage. Only there was a much larger and scarier lion in the cage with her. She looked at his figure now. He was curled up on a metal bed in the center of the room, but Claire was unable to tell if he was unconscious or merely sleeping. She thought for a moment on how to do this. Sylar liked her, she could use that. Claire decided that jumping in without a plan might be best. Her father was always the man with a plan, and she refused to be anything like him.

Claire walked over to the left side of the table, and looked down at Sylar. Her monster looked peaceful and calm lying there. The white pajamas and haircut worked the opposite effect though, they gave Sylar even more of an edge. He looked like a committee of an insane asylum, though that's practically what Level 5 was for, so Claire supposed it was appropriate for his current life-position. She slowly reached out to nudge Sylar's shoulder, and nearly jumped in shock when he snapped his eyes open upon feeling her soft touch. "Claire" he breathed… Claire didn't reply, she just straightened up and tried to look sure of herself. "I should have known you worked for the company…" he mused, "that you tricked me. Pretty girls from your neighborhood don't often wander into Queens by themselves."

"I didn't trick you. I'm a prisoner here too," she supplied somberly.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you," he stated thickly, "but prisoners don't often wander into the cells of psychopaths by themselves." Sylar immediately dropped the sarcasm as his voice sank to a deep and menacing growl, "So be a dear and tell me Claire. What are you doing here?"

Claire decided to be honest with him, "The Company wants to bring you up to level 4 for testing. I'm supposed to convince you to go."

Sylar slowly shook his head as if wordlessly telling her that her request was impossible, "Do you know what they do to people there Claire?" His harsh glare flickered with something else for a moment, she wondered if it was fear. "You can't know… if you didn't you wouldn't be asking me to go willingly."

"Who said anything about you being willing?" She tossed a rebuttal at him casually. "I'm not asking. I'm telling." Claire folded her arms and gave him the most pitiful look she could muster, throwing in a pout for good measure.

"What are you going to do about it if I say no Claire?" His glare grew more depth as it became more about challenge than refusal. He wasn't going to let this tiny wisp of a girl take him.

Claire pulled a gun out of the holster on her thigh and aimed it at his head. "What do you think?"

"I think that's a good look for you Claire. Are you going to be visiting me often?" Sylar asked hopefully, a boyish grin on his face. "If so, could you wear little dresses like that all the time? You look like a video game character. It's hot."

Claire's mouth dropped open at his uncharacteristic behavior, and the grip she had on her gun loosened slightly. Sylar was expecting just that as he grabbed her arm and pulled her onto his lap, both wrists clasped firmly in his hands and trapped at her sides. Claire was stunned at the new state of defenselessness she found herself in. Sylar may not have been able to use his powers in this room, but neither was she. Lack of powers aside, Sylar still had his strength, as was clearly evident from the hard muscles her legs were currently wrapped around.

* * *

"Did you forget to bring back-up Claire?" Sylar tugged Claire down to lay by his side. "I'd bet you're beginning to regret that right about now."

"What makes you think that this isn't exactly where I want to be?" Claire asked coyly.

It was Sylar's turn to be caught off guard. Claire had never openly flirted with him before. He wasn't quite sure he liked the new development, but he maintained his confidence and kept his fingers fastened tightly around her wrists.

"Because if this was where you wanted to be, your heart wouldn't be thrumming away right now," he purred.

Claire felt her face getting hot.

"Isn't that cute?" Sylar mocked her. "My oh-so-frightening captor sent to take me away, is lying in my bed like a blushing virgin. Such an interesting turn events have taken."

"Please spare me another one of your speeches," Claire snapped. "We both know you won't try anything."

"Oh no?" Sylar switched to holding both of her tiny wrists in one hand and wrapped his free arm around her waist. He pulled her flush against his chest so she could feel every part of him. "Try me." Claire fought to hold back the gasp that escaped at the new position, instead she buckled down.

"You wouldn't." Claire's mouth was set in a tight line, and she tilted her chin up defiantly, looking away at an anything that ended up being the large glass window. Nobody was watching, and the fact mocked her.

Sylar also noticed that she was unsupervised. Leaning close to her ear while he played with her hair, he whispered hotly, "No one is watching Claire. I'm assuming that's because they knew what you would end up offering." He trailed his mouth down her jaw and she trembled under his soft touch. His mouth hovered over hers, barely grazing over her lips, but he stopped. "What if I'm not buying? You're going to have to be more convincing."

"What would you have me do?"

"Think real hard Claire."

"I am not doing that! I can't believe you would even ask." Claire tried pulling away, but Sylar merely adjusted their position by rolling her underneath him and lodging his knee between her thighs. She gasped at the unexpected contact. Surely he was punishing her for her attempted escape.

"I wasn't. Though if I were, I wouldn't say you're in the position to refuse." He gave her an evil grin, one she wasn't sure was entirely playful.

"What do you want then?" She asked warily.

"I don't want to be alone."

"And you expect me to do what about that?" He shrugged and rolled his eyes, appearing to be perfectly comfortable in the situation.

"Just visit me once in awhile." Claire looked at him confused.

"That's it?" she exclaimed.

"No, there's one more thing."

Claire opened her mouth to ask him what it was, but was cut off by the heated kiss he gave her. Claire was horrified when she felt herself returning it. The way he pressed his hips into hers should have disgusted her. No, the way he was currently sliding his tongue across hers should have been the disgusting part. Against her better judgment, Claire let out a moan. So much for being in control.

Sylar immediately pulled away and left her lying below him, panting with swollen lips. "I'm not so sure you were supposed to enjoy that Claire." He frowned. "I suppose you look thoroughly ravaged though, and that will work toward the plan."

Claire took a moment to recover from her embarrassing and wanton display, "What plan?" she asked as she abruptly sat up. Sylar wore a bemused expression. "What plan?" she repeated louder.

"Well no one is going to believe that you actually got me to agree to go with you forcefully." He smirked.

"I hate you," she groaned.

"I'm sure you do." His smile grew wider as he picked up her gun. Claire watched him warily as he examined the piece. "A confident little thing, aren't you? This gun isn't even loaded."

It was Claire's turn to be smug. "Impressed?"

"Concerned," Sylar said and shook his head, handing the gun back to her. "Lead the way, hero."

* * *

Claire looked on painfully as a couple of nondescript doctors took their turns cutting into him and removing limbs. After the first one lowered his mask, he began by making shallow cuts along Sylar's arms. He didn't seem to be affected, so the next round was much more gruesome. The following incision was made by a sterile scalpel that the scientist drew across his chest. The deep cut freely exposed his organs, but in an extremely admirable effort of resisting the urge to scream out, he merely ground his teeth together and tried not to shake as the flesh repaired itself.

They were testing the limits of his newest acquired power. Claire shuddered as she realized that this is exactly what they intended to do with her before she came to work for the company. She saw his muscles tense up with the pain, but he didn't show it on his face. He hardly flinched. Sylar just stared into her eyes from across the room, silently telling her that she had a promise to keep, telling her that it was her fault. It could have been hours before they started removing his vital organs and the pain started to show on his face. Claire could have sworn she saw his eyes start to well up when they removed his heart. This man's tolerance of pain was nothing short of phenomenal, but she was sure that he could still feel it. He could feel every bit of pain that they had inflicted upon him.

That's when they did it. One of the doctors had moved behind Sylar where he couldn't see them. Claire watched in horror as the white-clad figure picked up a strange rotating saw-like tool from the tray next to the operating table, and unceremoniously began to cut into Sylar's skull. His entire pretense at dealing with the pain crumbled away. Sylar's accompanying scream was the most horrendous things Claire had ever heard, and it only got worse when he started to sob uncontrollably. Sylar was screaming her name. "CLAIRE HELP ME! GOD PLEASE! CLAIRE!" The most powerful man in the world looked at her and pleaded with tear-filled eyes, calling to her, and asking for her help.

Claire felt disgusting. She longed to make them stop, and was seconds away from killing the doctors herself. She couldn't even think, all she could hear were his screams. She squeezed her eyes closed, and flinched as they grew louder. He had started to weep without shame, begging for them to stop, but both doctors remained cold and clinical. This was her test too, she supposed, and she guessed that she passed. The noise of the rotating saw stopped and she opened her eyes again. Sylar was pale, and he looked like he was close to death. The man looked frightened as his eyes fell blankly upon the ceiling.

This is what he had subjected her to. It was strange watching it from her current point of view, but that was the reason she had let them do all those things to him. Claire wanted Sylar to feel what he had put her through. The others would have lost consciousness before he finished cutting into their skulls, and after seeing Sylar go through it, after going through it to herself… It was hard to think of their pain on the same level. The feeling of violation, of not actually being able to feel someone's hands playing with your brain, but knowing that they were there… learning from and about you, like you were little more than a science project- It was horrifying.

Claire walked up to the bed and wrapped her hand around one of Sylar's trembling ones. She kept her hold firm as if willing him to conquer the hurt. One of the doctors started to protest until she glared at them and suggestively placed her hand on her gun, then they had immediately backed off. Claire looked down into Sylar's eyes, and he stared back. In his gaze she saw all of the hunger, pain, anger, abandonment, and loneliness that made him the monster he had become. Then she saw something that once again turned her world upside down. Understanding.

* * *

Tbc.


	4. The Assignment

Chapter 4

* * *

_Claire woke up surrounded by light and enveloped in pristine white sheets, they were tangled around her tanned legs as though forgotten after a long night of passion. She stretched slightly and let out a sleep-muddled yawn. That's when she felt a well-muscled arm tighten around her waist, and recognized the all too familiar form of Sylar, with his entire length pressed against her backside. Sylar splayed soft good morning kisses down the side of her neck and shoulder, fingers ever so slightly gliding down her arms. At that, Claire couldn't help but release a low and throaty groan. "Sylar," she breathed and tried to press herself harder up against him. He immediately placed his hands further down on her hips and flipped her over so that he could meet her eyes with his own again. When Claire saw what was in them, the pleasant dream had turned into a nightmare. Sylar gazed at her through dark lashes. The new situation she found herself in added to the perverse nature of the looks they had shared in the past. In his eyes, Claire saw the same expression he had worn that night on the operating table, they held all the horror they experienced together in Level 4._

* * *

Claire abruptly sat up with a gasp, she was panting roughly, and frantically seizing the sheets of her own bed. These dreams were becoming a permanent fixture in her nights. Something dropped in the pit of her stomach when she remembered the promised she had made to Sylar. Everyday it was the same old, 'Just one more day, I'll go tomorrow,' excuse that she told herself. Claire couldn't bring herself to see Sylar like she had committed.

A week had already passed since she had watched the doctors do unto him as he had done unto her. It should have been poetic justice, she supposed… The words were right there, they just didn't make the sense that they should have. The connection refused to make itself in her brain.

Claire knew that she should have thought the whole situation was one of beauty, and that she should have enjoyed watching her tormentor go through such pain, but it was too soon. When she thought about the acts she would do for the company, it was on an exclusively hypothetical level. In her mind, Claire was fully convinced that she would do any of these things as acts of self-preservation. Claire was wrong.

With every day that had passed, Claire slipped farther into a sea of apathy and isolation. She had become someone else entirely. Long gone was the girl who had been terrorized repeatedly, dead was the silly politician's daughter who had always somehow managed to place herself in the worst possible place at the least opportune time.

Claire felt like a predator now. The remnants of her humanity had been stripped from her naked and feral body. It was interesting to her that the most valuable thing to a person was their compassion, and yet for her, it was the first thing to go. Such a powerful force in life, yet immeasurable in death. Claire idly wondered when she began to care more about the concept accepting death, over the idea of living life to the fullest.

The turning point must have been when Sylar came to understand why Claire had allowed a mere mortal to do those terrible things to him as she idly sat by, and even had held his hand. Claire had the gall to look straight into his eyes and accept what was there as the truth, the only truth that mattered anyway.

Claire was beginning to understand how Sylar had been able to do the things that he did to all of his victims, sawing off their skulls, and stealing their very essence.

Sylar took on the role of God when he had been forced to accept that his desire for power was greater than their purpose for living.

People were so easily fascinated by the simplest things, they invented entire holidays during which everybody gave each other presents and every word exchanged was done so with the knowledge that it was one more step closer to ensuring that they would have the other person wrapped around their bodies at the end of the night. Oftentimes many chose to simply not think of things because it made them feel better, it helped them sleep at night. Clearly she was doing something wrong, because sleep was not a luxury she could afford.

Claire thought her father must have been right. People were like teacups… so fragile. What was she if not human though? She lived, she breathed, and she carried out all the regular tasks of the human body better than any other person alive, the newest of which was her freak-tolerance of pain.

Claire knew one person who would give her honest answers… the ones she really needed, and coincidentally he was the one person she was avoiding, but she couldn't go on living that way. She had to figure out who she was before there was nothing left. It was time to make good on her promise, Claire decided, and crossed the room to exit.

* * *

Claire awkwardly tiptoed into Sylar's room, attempting an entrance with some modicum of subtlety.

"No use Claire," Sylar announced.

"I should have known you would have eyes in the back of your head."

"Hardly, though once again I'm flattered by your assumptions of my being an all-powerful superhero. I can't say your conjectures are entirely off base." As he continued to face the wall, Sylar looked as if he was talking to himself, "As it is, I'm very likely the most powerful man in the world, and thanks to you, I have an eternity to make good on that claim… If I'm wrong that is." He sounded a little broken in his personal reflection, as if he'd finally seen something that convinced him immortality was not the best gift to have after all.

"I was kidding," she mumbled. When he didn't respond she got to the point. "I guess since I'm here for answers. I'll start with the newest question." Claire picked her voice up again, attempting to keep the mood as light as possible. She even folded her arms in cocky cheerleader stance. "So really, how did you know I was here?"

"You're not nearly as quiet as you think you are," he lied. The truth of the matter was that he could simply sense when she was around; they were connected, and they both knew it. "What makes you think I have all of the answers you're looking for?" he asked.

"You're usually right about things. If you don't have the answers, then it's ok. I'm asking you because I know you won't lie to me." Sylar turned around at that, surprise evident on his face. Claire tried to start again a moment later, but the words caught on her lips. All that managed to escape was one, "And…"

"And?" Sylar persisted softly.

"…Do you feel it?" She asked quietly.

"Do I feel it?" he repeated. Claire crossed the room to stand closer to in front of him. Something flickered in his eyes when she cast him a meaningful glance, but he brushed it off and summoned a new wave of bravado. Things were getting too messy, and Sylar couldn't handle being part of conversations that were spiraling out of his control. With Claire the words were always so slippery. Just when he thought he'd caught them and forced them to do his bidding, she surprised him again.

He pretended to ignore her question. Ignorance was bliss, after all. "You look good in that uniform Claire," Sylar gave her a heated and appreciative once over. "It's a good… color… on you." He said the words slowly and deliberately as his eyes reached the hem of her barely there skirt. He gave her a wolfish grin for good measure.

Claire groaned at her stupidity in forgetting to change before she visited Sylar. Of course he would have some snarky comment to make about her cheerleading uniform. Claire decided to join in his game. She preferred him when he wasn't so… broken.

She put on bent knee on the bed he was once again laying upon; crawling up his body without making contact, "I'm glad you like it baby. I wore it just for you." Sylar laughed at her efforts and immediately removed her from his body before she noticed the hardness that was starting to grow just inches away from her warm, soft body, currently hovering above him.

Part of Sylar would always be the insignificant watchmaker, the stammering Gabriel Gray, and he tried relentlessly to keep that side buried. A memory slipped into the front of his mind… Or rather a lack of one, and Sylar found himself giving Claire an odd look. He couldn't remember ever talking to a cheerleader when he was in high school. Point of fact, he couldn't remember talking to any remotely attractive women at all. He immediately stalled the feeling of rejection that attempted to creep up inside of him, and returned his attention to the girl in front of him. If Sylar wasn't mistaken, Claire gave a near imperceptible pout at being removed from his body. This girl was either going to kill him or fall in love with him some day.

"Are you sulking?" Sylar exclaimed in disbelief and made no effort to stifle his accompanying bellow of laughter. Claire shifted uncomfortably at that and played with her perfectly coifed hair.

"I knew you were seriously unhinged, but I never took you for an idiot Sylar." Her quip was defensive but light-hearted.

"Right then," Sylar decided to let it go for now. His unanswered question still hung heavy in the air between them, and that was enough for the time being. Clearing his throat, he managed to inject some normalcy into the conversation again… well comparatively. "You said you had questions. Ask away."

"What is humanity?" Claire looked at him, scared for what his answer would be.

He attempted to run a hand through his previous, long thick locks, and became momentarily distracted and angry upon coming in contact with the short tufts of thick hair, the result of the awful haircut Noah Bennet had given him. No doubt solely for his own amusement. Everybody played games here, considering that, he came to a conclusion. "Don't be ridiculous Claire." Sylar answered slowly, "It doesn't exist."

* * *

Claire visited Sylar again the next day. It figured that the only person she would be able to easily converse with happened to be a deranged serial killer. Freaks will be freaks, she supposed.

For as far as Claire had slipped away from her perceived definition of what was right and good, she found it amazing that she could still lie to Sylar. She lied right to his face, the very same face she looked upon so fondly upon in her sleep.

She had made it a habit to call him a monster. Her actions weren't completely unprecedented though, or at least that's how she tried to see it. There were two absolutely unavoidable truths when it came to Sylar: the first was that he had more power than any man alive, and it was followed closely by the fact that he didn't like being underestimated. Sylar had been known to literally start busting heads if a person was overcome by the urge to mock either him or his ways.

Claire stifled a giggle as she was overcome by the image of Sylar in a freshly pressed shirt, trousers, and suspenders, as if he'd come straight out of the Godfather. She thought to herself that he would be a good person to have on your team at any given time. Well, as long as you could stomach his bouts of post-traumatic insanity.

For as hard as he tried, Sylar was hardly more grounded than a terminal schizophrenic; hell since he'd been locked up in Level 5, he had even developed the habit of talking to himself. Still there were no guarantees that such was a new trait.

She was convinced that the more she insulted Sylar, the more he would want to kill her again. Things were never simple between the two of them, not in the short time that they had managed to become acquainted with each other, but Claire was much more comfortable when they pretended to hate one another.

Unfortunately for Claire, the dreams still hadn't let up. She still had difficulty maintaining focus when she was in close quarters with Sylar. Most employees at Primatech Research had come to respect and even fear Claire to a point; she was after all the one who would take over the company in the result of her father and grandmother's deaths. However, after the third time Claire had went into Sylar's cell, she noticed that her father was beginning to grow suspicious of the situation. She expected a confrontation that very day.

* * *

Claire was lost in her thoughts as she made her way through the door to Level 5. She kept her eyes cast on the floor. She'd been here so many times that she could easily navigate the halls of Primatech blindly, and probably while walking backward if she wanted a little bit of a challenge, so she was shocked when something obstructed her path.

Claire frowned at the perfectly shined dress shoes that entered her line of vision as she was cut off. "Hello Mr. Bennet", she greeted him cheekily. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to talk Claire." Her father's tone sounded grave, and he leveled her with a serious look.

"I thought we were talking. Talk away, I don't have anywhere to be."

"That's exactly what I mean to speak of with you. Both your grandmother and I have noticed that you've been spending some time with Sylar. This is highly unorthodox Claire. You are not here to grace him with the pleasure of your company, you are here to do your job."

"I distinctly remember you wanting me to gain his trust." Claire drew a hand across her face wearily. "The only assignment you've given me was to bring him down for testing. Which by the way was disgusting."

"I'm glad to see we're on the same page then. It's time for your first real assignment."

"Oh goody, I can't wait." Claire drew the words out lazily. She secretly rued the fact that she would be forced to separate herself from what she'd hoped was becoming a daily routine. Claire'd nearly forgotten the reason she was working for the company in the first place, and the reminder was something of a shell-shock to her system.

Not that she would ever admit it aloud, but her dysfunctional chats with Sylar were the most normal thing about her day. She was even, dare she say it? Beginning to look forward to and enjoy them immensely.

Sylar wasn't necessarily an easy person to talk to, in fact he was impossible; his constant air of superiority was always working to deflect any statement that could possibly be construed as offensive. It didn't take much for Sylar to fly off the handle, but once she got him to start talking, she was always impressed by his deep thoughtfulness.

It was clear to Claire that Sylar was a very well-educated person. You wouldn't know it by the apparent lack of worldliness that came with being a socially-inept serial killer, but there seemed to be very little that the man did not know everything about.

She remembered reading in his file that he had killed a woman in Midland, Texas who was able to perfectly remember everything she learned. Claire idly thought to herself that it would be a great quality in a boyfriend; he would never forget your birthday or your anniversary… Then mentally slapped herself for the implication behind that thought.

"Claire are you listening? This is important." Noah interrupted her internal struggle.

"Mmmhm." She honestly didn't care to know anything about the situation. She would do what she had to in order to get through the situation. Pondering the issue with any depth would send her into a whole new pool of questions pertaining to her recent lack of caring.

"A man named Ricardo Silva has escaped from the facility in Alaska. We need to track him down and recapture him. This is extremely important; he is a very dangerous man to leave out in the open."

"When do we leave?" Claire asked, not really caring as she was lost in her own ruminations. Finally she figured out how his books must have been organized, in the order that he learned them of course. She thought about the number of barely worn first editions and couldn't help but be impressed by the amount of knowledge he must have held. She wondered fleetingly if he made a habit of learning things from the internet as well.

"Immediately." The word felt heavy when it dropped in the air. Claire wasn't expecting that; she didn't even have the chance to say goodbye. More incentive to not die, she supposed. If she died, then it wasn't very likely that Sylar would continue to play games with the company. Claire and her father might be leaving Primatech Research behind to be completely obliterated, but she was the only one who was aware of her growing importance to Sylar, and she would do anything she needed to keep it that way.

* * *

Claire and her father drove straight to the airport upon leaving Primatech. Silva had last been sighted in Ottawa. That was the thing about these alleged criminals, the choice they had to make. Either attempt to disguise themself and prepare for permanent settlement in a metropolis area, or spend the rest of your life running. The more intelligent ones ran. It was harder for the company to track down people who kept moving after they'd lost the Walker Tracking System. Although Silva was known to be a fairly intelligent individual, as a former scientist he didn't seem the type to run; it made Claire wonder why she hadn't asked before.

"What can Ricardo Silva do exactly?" Claire's father looked at her oddly, more than likely perplexed that she didn't know.

"His ability is called primal rage." He answered shortly, as if they explained it all.

"And that is what exactly? He hulks out when he gets mad?" Claire was in general, completely oblivious to the names of the abilities people had. If she cared half as much about her work for the company as she did for the degree she was working on at Columbia, she'd be all set.

"Didn't you read the file I gave you?" he asked her, annoyance beginning to creep into his voice.

"I figured I would do it on the plane," she admitted sheepishly. Claire looked at Noah as if she meant him to elaborate anyway.

"Ricardo Silva can force people to exhibit fits of uncontrollable rage. He's killed several people just for pleasure. It's an ability that has been extremely coveted by Sylar upon discovery."

"How does Sylar know how to find all of these people? For that matter, how does he know what people can do?" Claire never brought up Sylar's power in conversation with him; she had a feeling she wouldn't like what she heard. Don't ask, don't tell. Wasn't that just the basis of their relationship? Wait... When exactly did she decide they had a relationship? They didn't have a relationship! They didn't even have a friendship. Claire shook her head in disbelief at herself. Sylar's insanity must have been rubbing off on her. She looked at her father in anticipation the answer to her spoken question.

"Sylar's ability forced him to split his identity in two. The half of his character that is subdued right now is named Gabriel Gray. Sylar has hidden him away in his subconscious." Claire was growing impatient. At least he'd answered one question for her, albeit unintentionally. She now knew that it was true what Sylar had said. He'd never lied to her. Gabriel Gray was his name… after a fashion. She prodded, wanting to know more.

"Okay, so he has two personalities… I'm not drawing the parallels here."

"The man who started it all was named Dr. Chandra Suresh. Gabriel was the first person to agree to test with Dr. Suresh; he wanted to be different, and was convinced that the tests would prove that he was special. Sylar became known as "Patient Zero". However weeks went by, and there was no evidence that there was anything abnormal about Gabriel Gray. Suresh completely gave up on him. In his anger, Gabriel killed a man named Brian Davis and stole his first power. That was when he and Suresh discovered that he has the inherent ability of Intuitive Aptitude. Less than a year later he deceived Suresh's son into believing that he wanted to help these people deal with their powers, and was given access to the list. I guess you don't really have to guess what happened next."

"No, I guess I don't." Claire hid a smile upon absorbing the information. The one thing that stood out to her was the intelligence with which the grand scheme was organized, that was her Sylar. She groaned inwardly at her mental word choice. Her Sylar… She felt like a freak, even more so than she usually did. Claire wondered how Sylar had taken his first power if he didn't have any abilities to assist him… certainly not the way he had found hers.

"You ask a lot of questions about Sylar, Claire." Noah cast his daughter a quizzical look.

"You brought him up," she reminded him, laughing awkwardly to try to avoid any further statements or questions on the subject. He threw her another funny look and opened his mouth before Claire had the good fortune of their flight being announced.

* * *

Claire and her father arrived at an old abandoned warehouse in a forgotten industrial area of Ottawa. The streets were empty, the sky was dark, the structures were battered, and the ground was abused. Their surroundings distinctly reminded Claire of Queens. In fact, the place they were at was nearly identical to the place James had tried to force himself on her. It probably should have been unsettling, but she only laughed about it now.

Claire could have torn that man apart with a single look if she knew then, half as much as she did now. She took a moment to appreciate the situation, how it all felt the same, but it was still different because she wasn't the same person at all anymore. She idly wondered how long she had her ability before she figured it out and decided that it would have been useful to be aware of.

Before that night, Claire had not gone out and partied for quite some time, let alone drank at all. It was everything she used to do when she had first moved to Manhattan, but more often than not she found that her nights ended with several men she barely knew wanting to have sex with her. Maybe she was just trying to hold on to any opportunity for control that she could find, but Claire had never been ready. She went home alone every night.

With her lifestyle of being so well protected and pampered, she would never have had an injury to heal from. She thought it was silly, the difference between politics in the real world, and politics in her world. Politics among freaks meant hunting and imprisoning many people who did absolutely nothing wrong in the first place; they were simply born "wrong."

Power seemed to emphasize the moral implications of every action, insignificant or otherwise. Every emotion and desire was heightened when you lived with the knowledge that that day could be the day that you died; it might be the last time you were alive to want it. Claire thought such things at that very moment. She was facing the fact that everything had the potential to change. Someone could die, and she had that horrible feeling in her gut that whispered to her that somebody _would_.

True, Claire could regenerate at an extraordinary rate, but she was fairly positive that she could not easily survive several things… burning to death, decapitation, evisceration... well actually she didn't know about evisceration, but it would probably at least feel really weird. Regardless, the possibility was still there; they would have to work fast if they planned on successfully bringing this guy in. She had this skills, she just didn't know the plan.

When they were concealed a couple hundred feet away from the warehouse, Noah pulled his daughter aside. "Okay let's go over the plan again, Claire. I'm going to go around back and wait. You will come in through the front. Remember, do not let him know that you are an agent. Silva will try to make you a victim. When he does that, I will flank from the other side and stun him. Are we clear?" He was all business when he was in company mode.

"Yeah we're clear." There was no room for argument anyway.

"Are you ready?"

"Let's move." Claire's heart was pumping as fast has her body would allow, thrashing so hard that she was almost worried it would break through her ribcage. It was exhilarating, the feeling that had begun to rise inside of her as the gravity of the situation donned on her. It was either kill or be killed today, and for the first time she felt as though she might have had something to live for. Though consciously, she wasn't quite sure what it was.

* * *

Claire walked with seemingly slow and hesitant footsteps as she entered the warehouse. "Hello?" She called, and shrugged. She crossed to the center of the room and turned around in a circle. She was truly enjoying playing the lost little lamb, more than she should have been. It was a game of cat and mouse, but this mouse had a few tricks up her sleeve.

Claire jumped slightly when sound of footsteps that did not belong to her filled the room. More on instinct than for her act, Claire whipped around wide-eyed. She didn't remember feeling this scared when Sylar had her pinned up against the wall. She just stared at the man in front of her like a deer in headlights.

As Silva advanced upon her with empty eyes and a self-assured stride, she backed up slowly, tripping over her own feet. In his face, he didn't look like a bad person; his empty expression reminded her of her own self, and a different kind of fear started to settle in.

"What do you want from me?" she asked weakly. Her voice quaked as she noticeably shuddered. The man flipped a gun out from his waistband and pointed it directly between her eyes. He didn't grin, he didn't taunt her, he just looked grave. Claire understood what her father had meant when he said Silva had killed several men with his power, he meant company men… agents. This was a man running for his life; he was just like her.

"Are you an agent?" he asked. His eyes slid up and down her body, and much to her respite, not in a sexual way. He was sizing her up, trying to suss her out for what she really was. Luckily for Claire, she was sure her 5'2" stature didn't scream agent in the least. Claire tried to buy herself sometime. "What's an agent?" she asked as innocently as possible.

He wasn't buying it; that much was obvious as he slowly walked her toward a wall, "Where's your partner?" he asked bitterly. "Aren't you done messing with my life yet?" His tone rose with every syllable. "Won't you just leave me alone?" Claire's fingers itched to reach for her own gun and show this man a thing or two about scaring the hell out of a person.

Instead Claire pretended to search for an exit and quickly surveyed the room as her back was caught against the wall. Her partner was still nowhere in sight. She wondered what could possibly be taking him so long.

An instant later, she saw him over Silva's shoulder; he was all the way on the other side of the room, taking his sweet time. Meanwhile Claire was wondering how a bullet in the skull was going to feel as Silva caulked his gun and looked at her guiltily.

Frankly Claire wasn't too fond of taking bullets. Her father was taking too long too act, and she couldn't take the anticipation anymore; after all, she'd be no use here while her body tried to force out the bullet from her head.

Claire gritted her teeth and ripped her own gun out from behind her back. She had ruined everything with her moment of impatience. Noah took only a fraction of a second to react as he fired his gun at Silva, racing time, and trying to take the man down before he turned around and noticed that Claire wasn't alone.

The bullet soared through the air, lacking the usual accuracy and precision with which Noah treated every kill. Claire was horrorstricken, her face fell when the bullet lodged itself just two inches below Silva's heart.

The man fell at Claire's feet, and a look of pure vehemence had set itself in his face. Claire gasped when his eyes began to glow red. The moment was sped up and slowed down at the same time and the air took on a different flavor.

The hair on her scalp started to lift, and her skin crawled with a heat that was spreading rapidly through her body. She ground her teeth together as she cast a deadly look at her father, "YOU MISSED. YOU FUCKING BASTARD," she growled, and immediately started upon him, carelessly stepping over Silva as if he were already an ineffectual corpse.

Her father mirrored every step she took, his imposing figure dwarfing her efforts. Both agents built speed as they stalked toward each other like they were actors in an old western. Their eyes met with fire and primordial fury, but they didn't stop when they were face to face. Claire's father grabbed her by the neck and slammed her face into the concrete floor.

* * *

Claire choked on the musty warehouse air, it felt like the first breath she had ever taken, and in the usual way it did when she came back to life, it smelled and tasted of blood. She immediately looked down at her body out of habit; intending to fix anything that may have been broken, and nearly died of shock. She was covered in fresh blood, and if her father's mutilated body lying beneath her was anything to go by... it wasn't hers. Claire tried to get up and run, but found her legs to be twisted piles of bone and flesh. She was frantic as she re-broke the bones and tried to set them right, her hot tears blurring her vision and making the task more complicated.

As soon as she was mobile, Claire bolted from the building on shaky legs and poured herself into the driver's seat of the car they had parked nearby. She slammed the door shut in an effort to get some peace of mind, and she was alone.

"Think Claire think..." she tried, but immediately she was accosted by images of her father's mangled body; promptly bursting into a new set of tears. "Okay Claire…" she ran her hands through her hair and fell forward on the steering wheel. Her brain began to shutdown in all the emotional turmoil, too many thoughts entering her head at once, and then she found the right one.

"What would Sylar do?"

* * *

Tbc.


	5. Stories

Chapter 5

It's a pretty sexual one, kids. Rated M for Mature.

* * *

It took Claire less than five hours to get back home. She pitied the people who would find her father's body, but upon contemplation was assured that Silva would be back to examine the remains of his destructive talents.

What a terrible world it was which allowed people to kill without lifting a finger. She now knew why Sylar desired Silva's power so badly. It was perhaps the biggest question of morality, wondering if you were a murderer for releasing the anger that underlies all actions… the violent tendencies most people try so hard to keep buried.

She decided that the lies in the world were what kept it balanced. The conclusion pushed her into deeper sorrows at the thought of what she had done.

Although one could argue that she was forced to commit such a great evil, Claire knew that the rage didn't only blind her, it released the longing she had… all that resentment just creeping around inside of her, taking its chance of release upon the world.

Perhaps the darkest truth of it all was that you could love someone so much that you wished for their destruction. The end enabled you to care for them and forgive them of their wrongs. Everyone was so much better revered in death.

When the tears refused to come anymore, Claire rifled through her closet to find a bag for her belongings. She packed only the necessities, thankful for the late hour that allowed her to make it to her room unnoticed and with discretion.

Her blood soaked blouse would have drawn attention. As it was, she was grateful to have had a jacket that would hid her front until she could get home, though it too began to take on a muddy red tint as the blood soaked through the coarse fabric. Having considered this, Claire tore every light colored item from her bag, and replaced them with much more practical choices. Her stock was meager; however, it would do for the meantime.

Claire tossed in a few more necessities, and zipped her duffel before throwing it over her shoulder. Her father's words echoed through her head, "Just run, it doesn't matter where. Just keep running."

* * *

She had left her bag in the backseat of the XJ12; scowling when she thought about the price of gas for the damn thing. She wished she had time to pick up another one, but this was important.

It was only a matter of time before the company would figure out what happened, and she was sure that without her father left to protect the deal he had made, and her grandmother still in charge, the company would definitely relapse on her former hire as an agent. She doubted she would even be considered dangerous enough to be put in Level 5. "Yeah we'll see about that," she said aloud.

As she deftly made her way down to Level 5, Claire was confident. Although the gig didn't seem to be up quite yet, she wasn't taking any chances, and wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet or two in anyone who dared to stop her.

In the usual way, luck didn't go her way. Claire had hardly attempted to disguise the bank of artillery she had strapped to her person as she stalked through the building. Of course she would look suspicious.

A guard approached her as she punched in the security code to Sylar's cell, but she was too preoccupied to bother shooting him a threatening look before she expertly lodged a bullet in the middle of his forehead, all without looking back.

Sylar stared at her with a guarded expression as she appeared in his "room". His look was careful and questioning as he waited for her to say something; Desert Eagle still in hand, and looking for all the world like she was going to kill something. When instead she tossed him the firearm, he relaxed.

"Ever heard of knocking?" he joked, at the same time recognizing the urgency and standing.

"Shut up and move," she snapped in return.

The agents acted foolishly as they swarmed Level 5; the alarms rang and blinding lights flashed. Claire took the lead as Sylar followed her out of the building. Her insides clinked with the sound of metal as bullets hit each other in her gut, but she took them all without even flinching. Many of those who had the gall to try and stop them grew wide-eyed at her apparent invincibility.

Claire couldn't be bothered to notice the daunting skill with which Sylar had taken out at least twenty people using just his mind. Stopping most of the bullets dead in their paths as he sent several agents simultaneously crashing into the concrete walls where their bones shattered easily with the force. He threw bursts of electricity at the rest, threads of the deadly energy crackling and spindling out in connective threads. Sylar wore a sadistic smile that Claire didn't see, but knew it was there anyway.

It took them only a few minutes to make it to the surface of Primatech Research and out of the chaos, both maintaining an impressive pace as Sylar telekinetically pushed the doors open. Alarms still heard in the distance. They were free at last.

* * *

Sylar didn't let her drive, despite her implied insistence when she automatically leapt in the driver's seat, expecting him to take shotgun. Without words he came in behind her, pushing her over into the next place as he jammed the keys into the ignition. Sylar threw the car in reverse and whipped it around, speeding out of the parking lot.

"If you think you can do better"- he left off with a smirk.

"Where did you learn to drive like that?" she asked with apprehension and curiosity.

"It's not my first time outrunning a few suits Claire."

"Oh," she breathed, then glared at him. The cocky bastard.

They sat in silence as he drove to a hidden parking garage in Queens. Claire's mouth fell open when she saw what was inside. There were at least half a dozen cars inside, every single one as beautiful as the next.

"I never figured you to be a car enthusiast… or a millionaire," she added.

"I'm not." Neither his tone, nor his body language gave her any more information.

"So how?" She just shook her head, not knowing how to continue, and resigned herself to going along with however he usually did this. Apparently he'd managed it pretty well too, up until he'd met her. It could be argued that he got the better part of the deal. Gaining immortality wasn't usually a corollary of crime and punishment.

"Just pick one Claire, we obviously can't drive your car around; they'd find us before we got out of New York." He looked impatient.

Claire snatched her bag from the back and walked around to look at a Mercedes, before stopping to consider her choice and continued toward a shiny black Audi R8. Sylar followed her and knowingly plucked a set of keys from underneath the car.

* * *

They were both silent as they drove along the freeway. He stared out toward the road and dropped a seemingly random word, "alchemy," he said.

"What?" Claire asked, as if brought back from her thoughts.

Sylar grabbed her wrist from her lap, but Claire hastily jerked it away, looking at him like he had just grown another head… which given his array of abilities, probably wouldn't have been too impressive. "What the hell was that about?" she growled.

He just rolled his eyes and handed back the bracelet he had plucked from her arm.

"I'm the richest man in the world," he half joked. Claire looked at the seemingly foreign and solid-gold object that he had placed in her hands.

"Huh," she mumbled as she set her mouth in a straight line. "That's… well it's kind of a lame power… but it's useful!" she supplemented as an afterthought. Sylar stiffened at her undermining his ability. Claire noticed the change in his countenance and sank back in her seat, vowing not to speak until he did. Sylar wasn't as easy to play with when he had a whole depository of powers to punish her with.

* * *

It was already dark again when Claire felt herself very gently being jostled. She opened her eyes to see that she was being carried by none other than Sylar. If she wasn't so tired, she probably would have pitched a fit. "Where are we?" she murmured.

"Oh good, you're awake," he said and swiftly dropped her on feet that had barely managed to catch her before handing her the bag that she had brought with her. Claire looked around to get a bearing on their whereabouts, a sign declared it to be the Crowne Plaza Hotel.

"I didn't think serial killers stayed in places like these," Claire told him. He didn't even look at her as he unlocked their door. She froze at the sight of one bed. "So… should I take the floor?"

"Don't be ridiculous Claire. I wouldn't make you sleep on the floor. That bed is plenty big enough." He waved a dismissive hand at her. "I promise I'll try really really hard to keep my hands to myself." Sylar sounded weary and the statement lacked the innuendo she would have suspected from him. Nope, just sarcasm.

When Sylar caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he measured his appearance and removed what was left of his shirt, glaring at it as if it were the source of all his problems. "You're filthy. You should go take a shower Claire,."

Claire watched him for a moment longer, and remembered that this was probably the first time he'd seen himself in months. Instead of doing as he suggested, she made her way over to him and in an effort at reassuring him, put her arms around her waist. It was the same way she used to embrace her father… only it didn't feel the same, of course. Claire promptly burst into tears at the thought of her dad, she thought of the better times they had together, before any of this happened to them. Then it occurred to her that it didn't happen at all, she was born that way.

At first Sylar was shocked, and looked at her from under a furrowed brow, muscles tensed. It occurred to Claire that he would not be used to people touching him, let alone embracing him; Sylar was a creature of solitude and logic. He surprised her when he pulled her closer, and bent down to rest his chin on her head; it was a sad movement.

* * *

Claire lost track of the time as they continued to hold each other like that; eventually they had moved to the bed. When they finally drew apart, Sylar gently cradled her face in his hands and looked her in the eyes. "Thank you," he said, and then he tilted her chin up to place a single chaste kiss on her lips.

Claire's entire body felt like it had just been doused in oil and lit on fire; she was burning with the intensity of his simple gesture. Before when he had kissed her, it had been all about manipulation and control. This time when he kissed her, it was something entirely different, sincere.

They parted and both gazed at each other. Her hands were shaking with trepidation, Claire slowly moved them up Sylar's chest, one coming to rest on the hard line of his jaw.

At the same time they lunged for each other, both knowing exactly what the other needed. Sylar's fingers threaded themselves through her hair as he roughly held her face to his. When he slipped his tongue in her mouth she gasped and drew back, tugging on his lower lip with blunt teeth. He groaned, it was a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure.

Sylar flipped Claire onto her back and braced himself with one arm, running his free hand down through the valley of her breasts, tracing his fingertips over her ribs and continuing lower to hook his hand in the top of her underwear. He was teasing her. She wanted more, and grasped the hair at the back of his head, pushing Sylar back so she could climb on top of his lap. She moaned at the hardness she felt there, and insistently pressed her heat against him through the thin cotton of his Primatech issue pajama pants. "You feel so good," she groaned longingly.

Claire moved his hands to the hem of her shirt, slowly guiding them upward to shed her of the offending garment. She shook out her long blonde hair and once again started on him hungrily, splaying avid kisses down his neck. It surprised them both that she tried to take the lead.

However, in moments Sylar had her back on the mattress, trailing his nose down from her neck to the tops of her breasts and cooling the burning trail he had left as he followed it back up with his tongue. He pulled her hips roughly against his own and whispered huskily in her ear, "You know which ability I love the most?" The vibrations hummed through her body and sent Claire shivering.

"No?" He asked her, and paused to suck on her earlobe. "Mine." he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. "Do you know why Claire?" She looked at him flushed and shook her head.

"God tell me, please Sylar," She too anxious to speak, his words ceased to make sense and sent her body quaking. All she cared about was that he kept doing what he was doing to her.

"I know exactly how your body works," he murmured. "I'm going to show you." Claire nearly came at his words alone. He hooked his thumbs underneath the straps of her bra and brought them down her shoulders, revealing her young and pert breasts to his inspection.

"God Claire… so beautiful," he muttered between the wet kisses he laid on her collarbone. "You're so perfect." Slowly moving south. Claire gasped and shuddered as he continued his ministrations. Freezing when he slid her pants down and off her legs, leaving her exposed in only her scanty lace underwear. Sylar noticed her hesitation and realized that she had never done this before, laying a kiss each of her thighs before he looked at her and gently slid the last item from her body. "Trust me," he whispered softly, and she did.

He glided his fingers around her soaked lips and she moaned softly before he slipped a single digit between her wet folds. As he pumped a finger inside of her, he coaxed soft sounds from her throat. She relaxed, surrendering to the pleasure he was providing her body… enticing her senses. Her mind screamed at her to take more.

"God Sylar more, please… I need you now!" she breathed. He was more than ready to comply as he pulled his trousers from his body and settled himself between her legs. It was his turn to be nervous as he placed himself at her entrance and slowly guided his member inside. Claire didn't feel the pain of her virginity being lost as he broke through the resistance of her barrier.

"Gahh… oh Claire," he stammered weakly as he tried to regain himself, burying his head in her neck and softly biting down. They struggled to find a rhythm as they succumbed to the ensuing pleasure. Claire released a soft whimper as he buried himself deep inside of her heat, her sounds growing louder when he slowly pulled back out before thrusting back inside, hard.

Sylar hooked his arm under Claire's knee and brought it to wrap around his waist, the other following suit. His thrusts were wild and rough as he repeatedly plunged into her. The uncontrolled moans elicited from the girl squirming below him filled the room and were equally matched by his own.

Some people in the room next to them started to pound against the wall and yelled at them, but neither of them heard anything. Sylar had easily found the exact spot that would drive Claire over the edge, and he kept at it, his pace building as their eyes met. The pleasure built in her core, threatening to explode. Claire bit down on his shoulder as stars burst behind her eyes as she came with a scream.

Claire's slick channel spasmed around him and Sylar lost control completely, taking her with wild abandon until his member tightened and he spilled himself inside of her, keeping the rhythm slow and languid as he released himself and continued to move inside of his girl. His mind left him no room to argue with the term as he focused only on the intense pleasure. Ever so slowly, the waves of pleasure dissipated and a feeling of pure bliss overtook them both.

They both collapsed, laying flat on their backs in the comfort of the bed, drenched in blood and sweat, and panting.

"Claire…" he said, and spun her over to face him.

She looked at him carefully, and then realized something, what she had been living for since she met him. "I love you..." she told him.

He looked frightened out of his wits. It was too surreal that this beautiful girl would say such a thing to him, that anyone could love him, so he just stared at her for a few long seconds.

"You are everything to me," he started. "Claire... Claire I will love you forever." He braced himself for her reaction, the ensuing anger. Instead she just smiled at him.

"Forever," she repeated dreamily. They laid there until sleep took them both, savoring the afterglow of their lovemaking.

* * *

_Claire nestled into the familiar feeling of her favorite quilt from back home in Odessa. The sunlight streamed through her uncovered windows and cast rays upon her face, warming her skin and awakening her spirits, gently encouraging her to rise with the morning sky._

_She smiled and stretched, but the more clear her conscious mind became, the more off things started to seem. Her eyes still closed against the day's radiance, she remembered what she was looking for. Claire threw a hand out blindly in search of the warm body she had fallen asleep next to. She found a body lying next to her own, but it wasn't the one that she expected; it was cold, and lifeless…_

_Claire's eyes flew open and she found herself gazing upon her father's corpse, his blood had sank into her mattress, it covered her body and the innocent floral sheets that she had owned since childhood. Claire panicked, and tried to scramble out from underneath the covers, but her father had awakened from his deathly sleep._

_He grasped her shoulders and shook her violently against her headboard, roaring unintelligible curses at her as his dead and glossed over eyes began to fill in with a deep red. Unable to move, Claire screamed, frantically trying to escape the nightmare. A voice called to her in the distance, restless with unparalleled concern._

* * *

"Claire!" it yelled. "Claire, God damn you. Wake up!"

Claire snapped back into reality when she recognized the voice, and found herself being throttled by Sylar. His grip was bruising on her shoulders. She responded instinctively, shattering his nose with her forehead when she bucked upward, trying to escape. Her eyes widened when she realized who she had just stricken.

"Damn it Claire! What the hell?" he bellowed through a blood congested throat and nasal passage, gagging on it between words. Unexpectedly though, he didn't seem so much angry as annoyed and just a bit surprised.

"Oh! Sylar. I'm sorry," she attempted to comfort him, her tone half apologetic and half amused. When she saw that he wasn't having that, Claire switched to a different plan of action. She roughly pulled his hands away from the broken cartilage and slid it back into place with a soft pop.

"That hurt Claire." He scowled at her. "Remind me not to wake you up in the future."

"You should have seen the guy in me dream," she remarked, poorly attempting to inject some humor in the situation. Sylar saw right through her feeble effort, and he was not amused.

"I'm going to go run a bath. You're going to come with me and start giving out some answers," he told her without a hint of doubt in his voice; it was an order. His tone was familiar and welcome after her traumatic episode. Still he managed to challenge her overactive libido with his blatant display of control.

"You're nicer after you've been worked over," Claire tried, snaking her arms through his and running her hands down his back from his shoulders.

"As enticing as that is Claire, I'm much nicer when I'm not covered in my own blood," he replied humorlessly as he effortlessly scooped her up and dumped her into the spacious tub.

* * *

Claire lounged against Sylar as they lay in the water together. He lathered a wet sponge in lazy circles down her front, bathing her as they enjoyed the blissful moment. "So start talking Claire," he planted a kiss on her head. "What events could possibly have led you to our grand escape? Hmm?" Claire grew rigid as she tried to think of a place to begin.

"Me and my father were sent on an assignment," she started; her voice quiet and hesitant.

"An assignment," he echoed. "Who were you sent after?"

"It was a man named Ricardo Silva, he had escaped from the Primatech facility in Alaska. We tracked him to Ottawa," she elaborated.

"What happened in Ottawa?"

"My father barely missed his shot. He meant to kill Silva." She paused. "That's the last thing I remember before I was my kneeling over his dead body."

"Silva's? I'm impressed Claire, how did you manage that?"

"No," she replied solemnly. "My father's…" Sylar stopped his ministrations as he considered the new information.

"Is that what you dreamt about last night?"

"Yes."

"What do you want to do about it?" He turned her face toward his and gazed at her seriously.

"Do about it?" she questioned, "What do you propose?" Claire looked at him in anticipation.

"Do you want to go after him?"

"I do."

"You're not going to like the way I do things," he told her honestly as he ran his hands through her hair, toying with the ends of her wet strands.

"I know." Claire turned away from him again and began absentmindedly counting the tiles on the bathroom wall. She wasn't sure what was right or wrong anymore. Where she was at the moment made sense. The entire situation had an air of surreality. So much had changed for her in the last year; it would have seemed dream-like if she didn't feel the protective arms that were currently cradling her against the chest of a very real and very powerful man that she trusted with her life.

Life was beautiful when you couldn't see things clearly, but that was a luxury that only the rest of the world could afford to live with. Claire had long since accepted that she would be one of few people to learn all of the deep, dark secrets hidden by the world, all of the terrible truths. If given enough time, everything would eventually reveal itself.

She didn't have a family left to go back to, no one to reprimand her for poor choosing; she was the only one that had to live with her decisions until the end of time. What she did know was that she needed some kind of closure. What use was living forever if you were scarred by your past? Dwelling on things that have happened to you… because of you, rather than what was to come.

Sylar pulled back a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her in the place where her neck met her shoulder. "Are you ready?" he murmured against her wet skin. Claire shivered.

"Yes."

* * *

As Claire drove away from Columbus with Sylar the next day; she didn't ask where they were going. Claire trusted him, but unfortunately it seemed that they were headed back East, and that was the part that worried Claire a little bit. She studied his face, looking for any signs of trepidation, or annoyance, but he maintained a perfect poker face, unreadable and unpredictable as ever. So she asked him, "Are we going back to New York?"

"We're making a brief stop there, yes." His tone gave her no new information. He looked over at her, expecting her to bombard him with more questions and doubtful statements; however, it was his turn to be confused when he didn't see any of that.

Claire looked completely resigned and trusting. She wasn't the same girl he had taken home in Queens, the one that would blush at his mere proximity. Claire was in that moment, every bit as confident and callous as himself. What a perfect team they would make. He decided to share the plan with her in full. "We're going to New York to pick up The Walker System," he told her. Claire nodded absentmindedly and gazed out the window.

"The Walker…" she started to say, "You're going to kill that little girl?" Claire exclaimed and slapped him angrily on the arm. Sylar shot her a warning look.

"Okay Claire. Here's the deal. I can kill her now, I can wait until she's a little older and kill her then, or I can simply force her to find Silva for me."

"Let's go with the third option. I like that one."

"Claire…" Sylar sighed. He looked at a loss for words and settled for playing with his grip on the steering wheel. He definitely wasn't expecting her to believe he was being serious about that last bit.

"Silva is going to keep moving, and if we keep going back to New York every time I need an update on his location, the company will find us eventually." He glanced at her face to see if she was becoming any more compliant. When he saw that she wasn't, he reached further into his mind. "Claire, this little girl is under the care of Matt Parkman. I'm fairly positive that they won't be willing to just hand me the location of this guy. Parkman is an idiot. You know that," he implored. Claire still looked unconvinced.

"So what you're saying is that you would have to kill him too?"

"If we don't pull this off perfectly, they will catch us, and if I have to go back… When I get out again, I will kill her anyway." He was silent for a few beats before something occurred to him. "Hey! Where do you get off being all high and mighty when it comes to killing?" He shot her a look. "It's not as if you were above it when you were just trying to save your own ass."

"And yours," she added quietly before turning to gaze out the window.

"I'm doing this for you Claire," he murmured angrily.

Claire looked miserable. She had just realized that that was the truth. She didn't know what she expected from her serial killer boyfriend… boyfriend. It was a bit odd to think of Sylar as a boyfriend, the term seemed so transient. What exactly did you call someone who you would very likely be with for eternity?

She really did feel guilty. Only seconds after Claire recovered from the wave of sorrow she felt at the concept of Parkman's death, she shivered at the prospect of Sylar being able to read her mind. She was sure that a great deal of her loved him, but she wasn't sure how deep that love was, or how much of it was based off of circumstance.

It made sense to love a person who thought the same way that you did, would never leave you alone, and had the looks of a god. She wondered if she would have been able to love Gabriel and Sylar separately, or if they had to be combined together.

Gabriel was so normal on the outside, dull really. On the inside he was something much too complicated to be left in the dark. Claire was thoroughly convinced that Sylar was not just an alias he picked up after he began murdering people. Sylar was the man who took care of things when Gabriel messed them up, Sylar did not care what the consequences were.

She wondered what it meant… that he chose to go by Sylar instead of his given name. Was Sylar the stronger part of his personality? Was he the preferred company for his conscience? Was Sylar a different person entirely? Was he the hunger? If that was it, Claire was sure that it meant they could never be normal, never actually be human.

It was a pity that the company hadn't spent more time trying to figure out what made Sylar develop into the man he had become. Surely there was worthwhile research to be done with a mind so complex. Psychological issues which ran so deep.

Still, she supposed that when someone could move things with their mind, conduct electricity with their hands, and even tell if someone was lying, their mental state probably wasn't top priority. With someone as temperamental as Sylar, it probably wasn't a good thing if he had the ability to pick up on any stray thought.

Claire decided that it would be best to get any soul searching conversations out of the way before that would become a factor. She picked her mind for the right place to start, and hoped that he would be willing to talk about it.

"So why did you choose the name Sylar?" she asked sweetly. Sylar barely looked taken aback, his grip on the steering wheel tighten fractionally as he took a deep breath. At least she was passed the moral argument stage.

Sylar was the brand of the watch I was working on," he told her honestly.

"So it has something to do with your being a watchmaker, with Gabriel's profession." A look of fury flashed across his face before he made an attempt at regaining his composure.

"Gabriel is gone Claire. Gabriel has been gone for a long time."

"Why do you dislike him so much?" She hoped she wasn't being too invasive, and at the same time was curious as to what he would do if she pushed him too far. Sylar may have had all of the powers in the world, but she had the best one. How could you hurt someone who couldn't feel pain, and couldn't die?

"Gabriel was insignificant Claire. He was weak." Claire didn't know how to speak with him when he wasn't showing any signs of humanity. She settled on a blend of genuine curiosity and sympathy.

"What happened?" she asked. Sylar was hesitant to reply, as if he was trying to figure out the answer to a riddle.

"Brian Davis. Chandra Suresh. Gabriel saw the chance to be extraordinary, and he was too scared to take it." Claire wasn't the least bit satisfied with his reply.

"No," she protested, "Not what happened to Gabriel, what happened to you?" Sylar attempted to dodge her question.

"What makes you think anything happened to me Claire?" He half-smirked, it was an expression she had come to be familiar with. Sylar could never lie when it came to himself. He was a master manipulator when it was someone else's life he was dissecting, but his own was strictly taboo.

"I trust you." Claire looked at him openly.

"I thought you were sick of my monologues," he delayed the inevitable.

"I'll make an exception." She wished she could reach out and touch him, but the car was rather restricted, "I want to know you, Sylar." He sighed at that, but shook his head and smiled. It was absolutely unfathomable to him that anyone could care enough to wonder about him as a person, his past, and his desires.

For some reason, Claire seemed not only willing but eager to make him happy. It was the exact opposite of his last relationship with Elle. Claire gained his trust by helping him escape from the company, she didn't try to put him there.

"Ok Claire. I'll tell you what I remember."

* * *

In the middle of his speech, Sylar had pulled off to a dirt driveway. Apparently he didn't like to have heartfelt conversations while he was doing something so mundane as driving.

"So you're Sylar because Gabriel's life was a lie?" Claire looked at him with sad eyes.

"Don't oversimplify things Claire. The development of another identity is an extremely profound experience. You've just made it sound like it's something you flip through on the"- Claire cut him off with a kiss and climbed onto his lap. Sylar forced her to sit back and stared at her with a guarded expression. He had just told her his life's story, and he didn't know how she would react. She should have left. That should have been a goodbye kiss. He was unlovable, especially when his pathetic childhood came into the picture. Claire recognized what he was thinking when she looked in his eyes.

"I'm not going to leave you." She brought her face down to his again, her lips almost touching his. "Forever alone… Where would I go?" She tried to kiss him again, but the two fingers that he held up to her mouth stopped her. Sylar looked at her with hard eyes, he seemed to be on the verge of anger.

"Is that why you're with me? You don't want to be alone?" Their eyes locked for a few long moments, and then Claire pouted and shoved against his chest, hard.

"You are absolutely insufferable! You're a goddamn psychopath." She fumbled with the lock on the driver's side door. When she finally escaped she stalked around to the front of the car, kicking at some dirt on the ground, and throwing a fit which despite his better judgment, Sylar found to be quite endearing.

"You're acting like a child Claire," he cut off her incoherent ranting. She turned around to spit something rude at him, but froze when she saw that he was thoroughly amused instead of affected. He pinned her against the hood of their car, and kissed her playfully.

"I knew you were insane, but I didn't know you liked children too," she teased and moved to sit up, but Sylar pushed her back roughly. "We just dented your car," she remarked.

"I told you," he smiled against her mouth and kissed her long and lazily, "I'm not a car enthusiast."

"Just a billionaire?" she breathed, trying to put up a fight.

"Shut up Claire." Sylar worked an arm around her waist and pulled her down to the edge of the hood as he continued to kiss her intensely. They had both began to work at the buttons on each others' shirts. He thought that Claire looked like a sexy school teacher, with her blouse undone and her suit skirt pushed up around her waist, her impractical shoes adding to the graceful shape of her legs, and with her underwear in his hand, the image just screamed ownership to him. She was all his.

Sylar flipped her over and pushed her flat against the front of the vehicle. He nearly lost himself completely when he ran a hand up one of her fishnet clad thighs, all the way up to her bare sex. She gasped. Sylar laid his body flush against hers, supporting himself on one arm next to her shoulder. "Are you mine?" he whispered in her ear. Sex was always so psychological with him.

"I want you," was all he received in return. His member was now pressed flat against her heat.

"That's not what I asked." He clarified, and shifted his hips a bit. Claire moaned and tried pushing back into him, but he held her in place. "Are you mine Claire?"

"Yes. Yes Sylar, forever," she was babbling disjointedly now.

"Why?" He pressed a little harder into her backside, and his fingers bruised her hips in a tight grip. "Why are you mine Claire?" He pushed her face roughly into the metal surface she was laying on and nipped at her jaw, "Is it because I'm the only one you can have Claire?"

"Is that what this is about then?" she joked between gasps, as he traced fingers just around her lips, but never making contact. Claire shuddered and begged, "God give it to me, please!" She cried out in frustration. Sylar just shook his head and brought his hand away completely to punish her for her outburst.

"I love you," she pleaded.

"What do you love?" he slipped a finger inside of her and slowly began to move pump it in and out of her, when she didn't answer he curled it at exactly the right spot and asked her again, "What do you love about me Claire?" He added another finger and she gasped.

"I love the way you look at me," she panted, "I love the way you think… the way you touch me. God I just love you, what do you want from me?" She opened her mouth to continue, but her breathing was cut off when she felt something much larger enter her. Despite the rough way he had handled her only moments before, Sylar was gentle now, his strokes slow and languorous. He was patient and loving and rewarded her for her cooperation.

Claire knew that this was all for her, and her body was definitely responding. She wondered if the sparks he was accidentally transferring from his fingertips had anything to do with the humming and electricity that filled her body. When he began to draw out loud and involuntary moans from her, Sylar propped up one of Claire's legs on the hard surface, and the new angle drove her wild with pleasure, every stroke bringing her closer to ecstasy as he pounded into her from behind.

The feeling that was becoming almost familiar to her body slowly rose up from deep within her womb, and spread throughout her core. She almost screamed his name as she rode out her orgasm, her loud moans filling up the afternoon air. Sylar took a moment longer than her, soon following her in perfect and silent contentment as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and released himself deep within her.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice husky and breathless in her ear.

"I love you."

* * *

Tbc.


	6. Hero

Would you bring Sylar home to your parents? I would! :)

Chapter 6

* * *

They arrived at the apartment less than a day after leaving Ohio; the dismal storm and weather outside provided them cover as they made their way into the building. Both Sylar and Claire were considerably tired after the long ride, but they figured an attack would be much less anticipated in the late afternoon as opposed to the middle of the night. People took so much for granted, depended so much on trust, it was pathetic really.

They worked with the advantage that the company expected them to play games, and work within the bounds of an elaborate plan. Neither Claire nor Sylar were ever company people though, rather they were two people who ended up with all the power they never asked for. Claire, a girl whose very life had been contracted since birth entirely without her knowledge, was destined to be either a stone cold killer, or an experiment. Sylar, a kind and soft-spoken man turned into a monster by the very people he would hunt.

It was ironic that the company would be the source of all Sylar and Claire's knowledge, their power; it was too bad for them that they never saw what was coming. Sylar only allowed himself to be used when he could gain something form it. Claire had no doubt that the clever killer could have escaped from Level 5 within a week of discovering she was no longer around; he was playing her the entire time, and now she had joined in the game.

Claire stood close behind Sylar as he telekinetically unlocked the door of Matt Parkman's apartment. Claire took a look around, Parkman's building closely resembled the one where Sylar had been living when she met him. The same drab short-pile carpet covered the tall and cramped building's foyer, some of the doors had obviously been broken into, and others had been shot out.

Claire wondered what Parkman was doing raising a child in a dump like so, and she quickly dismissed the thought upon realizing that not everyone grew up the way she did. The company certainly took care of its employees; she thought it was a shame for Matt Parkman that he was always too focused on being the small-time honest hero to actually make a difference.

Next to Sylar's telekinesis and Claire's regeneration, Parkman's telepathy was quite possibly the most useful ability out there, and he had yet to do a single thing that warranted such power… The secrets of everyone's minds, were unlocked and ready at the tips of his fingers, but he did not use nor want his power, he didn't even have to work for it.

The truth was never out of reach for Matt Parkman, Claire envied that, and for a moment she was convinced that if she were Sylar, she would have taken Parkman's fascinating ability a long time ago. She found herself wondering how to man was able to keep himself alive all this time, surely it was because he wasn't viewed as a threat, and his power wasn't ripe for the taking before.

For as much as Sylar liked to show off and pretend that there was absolutely nothing he was without, Claire knew that was a blatant lie. No person who actually coveted power and happened to be aware of the existence of telepathy could resist trying to take it for themselves, not if it was accessible to them as it was for Sylar.

Claire had decided long ago that Sylar was lucky that the company had stripped him of his morals and compassion, she thought it would be so easy to be happy if you could have anything you wanted without suffering the consequences. He had told her that he killed because of the hunger, because of his ability, not because he wanted to, he had to. An "evolutionary imperative," he had called it.

When she had spoken with Sylar about Matt Parkman's ability, he remained quiet for the better part of her speech; soon though, Sylar became visually frustrated with her fixation on Matt Parkman. Claire couldn't fool either of them. She was always looking for the truth, no matter what consequences it would have upon her psyche, or on her life. Claire Bennet was a creature of honesty, and she wanted Parkman's power.

It horrified her that instead, Sylar would be the one to obtain it... A man so volatile with access to so many secrets, she secretly hoped that her thoughts didn't go unchecked as often as she thought they did. Aside from loving the good she saw in Sylar, Claire also feared and respected him. If he so desired, it wouldn't be hard for him to tear her apart, emotionally or physically. She was always at his mercy, and it was vital to her well-being that she stay reasonably covered by his good graces.

Upon hearing Claire get lost in her admiration of Parkman's power, Sylar became positively livid. "You think he's special?" She tried to protest, but he cut her off. "Do you want to fuck him Claire?" She shook her head and stared at him wide-eyed, not understanding the cause of his outburst, but he ignored her silent response. "I'll kill him," he said. "Now I'll actually have a reason to enjoy it," Sylar told her, his voice dripping with venom.

Sylar was unstable to say the very least when it came to love. Every time Claire had seen him at his worst, he was saying something regards to how nobody had ever loved him, about the reason he became the monster he was. He didn't see it, but still she stood by his side, even as they prepared to kill two innocent people. Claire wondered if he would make it hurt worse than he normally would for Parkman, just because of her curiosity. She wasn't lying when she said she didn't feel that way about Parkman, she didn't, as would be evident to most people.

* * *

Claire looked up at the tall and attractive man standing before her, and tried to imagine what he must be feeling while he prepared to slaughter two people on her behalf, despite her moral qualms, she was flattered that Sylar cared so much. He raised his hand to turn the doorknob but before he had the chance, she wound her hands around his neck to place a quick but heartening kiss upon his lips. Sylar stared at her in wonder when she pulled away and gave him an honest smile.

The door creaked open and the deadly couple casually strolled into the small dwelling. In the living room, Molly Walker sat and worked on her homework in the corner of the room while Matt Parkman was situated on his sofa lazily nursing a bottle of beer as he watched a television program. Sylar formed a gun with his pointer finger and pulled the imaginary trigger. The glass in Parkman's hand shattered, the contents spilling down the front of his shirt. "Put your hands on your head!" Sylar bellowed with his best impersonation of an NYPD officer. Having been reassured by Claire, he decided to have fun with it.

Parkman was startled from his position but quickly pulled his gun on Sylar, emptying an entire clip into his chest. The company must have warned him that Sylar and Claire had gone rogue, because he was reasonably equipped for the confrontation. Sylar's lips spread in a slow smile as he leveled the man with a look. Claire noted that he was actually a very good actor, and if he wasn't the most powerful man on the planet, Sylar could have very easily had a successful career in film.

Parkman stared back at him wide-eyed as Sylar coughed up the foreign metal objects that had lodged themselves in his gut. He spit them out on the floor in a sickening display as he winced slight with the pain. "God that is really unpleasant isn't it?" He turned to Claire and shook his head in mock disbelief. "I just don't know how you do it Claire." Through his sarcasm, he maintained a thick New York accent.

Sylar flashed a brilliant grin at Parkman. The serial killer wore an expression that would lead anyone to believe that it was his birthday, and he was about to get exactly what he asked for. "Any last words?" he asked Matt as he advanced upon him. The man whose life was so close to the end looked at him defiantly and frantically reloaded his gun. When Sylar stood no more than a few feet in front of him, Parkman frantically fired until his clip was empty.

Sylar faltered a little bit and almost fell down, bracing himself on one knee as he struggled to stay upright. When he raised his head back up to look at the man who had just made a futile attempt to end him, he wore an expression of fury and almost seemed to snarl. Sylar was now wholly annoyed and pissed off that he had to yet again, pass more bullets out of his system. "Ouch," he mocked his prey reprovingly as he cracked his neck and immediately plucked the offending firearm from Parkman's hand.

To punish him for his foolishness, Sylar fired a single shot into each of the man's knee caps. Matt fell backward, flat on his back. He took to begging, knowing the end was near. "Sylar please, you know you don't have to do this." He panted through painful breaths. "You can walk away now." When he saw little change in his eyes, Parkman looked to Claire who was busy restraining Molly. "Claire…" he started, "Claire you won't let him do this will you?" His voice was weak as he beseeched her.

"Don't look at her!" Sylar fired another shot into his leg, annoyed that he was losing Matt's attention. "Look at me, this is what's happening!" he yelled over Matt as he howled in pain and his eyes screwed shut. "This is all for her anyway," he casually told him.

When Matt forced himself to look at Sylar, his face was somewhere between fear and anger as he fought against the intense pain and tried not to think about what would be his early death. Sylar lifted a finger to point at his head. "So much… ardor, Parkman," he seethed, "and all I have to do is point and it's game over isn't it?" He paused before sawing off the top of his skull. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Claire ignored Parkman's screams as Sylar went to work and continued to restrain a horrified Molly Walker. She opted to search for the handcuffs the police officer must have kept his in apartment, and it was almost a chore to keep the frightened little girl under control until she snapped the cuffs around her wrists and carelessly pushed her onto the couch.

Claire hastily moved to check out the windows in Parkman's apartment to see if they had any company. Surely the company would have at least one agent nearby. Parkman and Molly were valuable assets to Primatech, or rather their powers were. When she saw a large utility van pull up on the street in front of the building, her heart jumped. Without taking her eyes off of the potential crashers she asked Sylar anxiously, "How are things going?"

"Quiet Claire, I need to focus," he snapped.

"Well you better focus harder, because we've got company." Claire huffed.

"Great," he muttered but went back to work.

"How many like us are there?" he asked her distractedly.

"I thought you needed to focus," she drew out snarkily.

"Names Claire," Sylar was growing impatient. As it turned out telepathy was a very complex ability, and wasn't as easy to locate in the brain as he hoped it would be.

"Ummm…" she studied their barely visible faces, grateful that she had studied up on her agents and prisoners alike before she left the company behind. "It looks like Claude Rains, and James Martin." Sylar found the spot in Matt's brain and the ability clicked in his head.

"It must be my birthday," he breathed deeply and appreciatively. Sylar appeared to stop and think for a moment. "Rains could be a problem, so watch all of the exits." He looked around warily as if he expected them to be anywhere. "I don't think they're here for us." Sylar was right. It seemed strange that the company would send two specials who were usually assigned to missions which required disguise. The only explanation was that they were trying to get Parkman and Molly first.

While Claire attended to the doors and windows and played lookout, Sylar waved his hand and Molly was thrown to the ground in front of him. They were in a hurry now, and he didn't have time to waste as he immediately cut through her skull. He didn't even study her reaction before he killed her. There were bigger fish to fry this time around, Molly was just business.

Sylar found her power only seconds after a knock was heard on the door, he stood up and clasped his hand over Claire's mouth when she started to speak. "Shhh... Claire" he whispered. "Let's see if I can get the hang of Parkman's ability." He focused on tuning out every other voice in his head apart from Rains. He may not have been able to see him, but he could hear him.

When he was satisfied that both men were standing outside of the door, mentally reviewing the plan, he yanked the door open with his mind from across the room. A second later he had both men hanging in mid air by their throats. "Who wants to be the appetizer?" he asked.

* * *

Claire didn't know whether to be unnerved or impressed as she and Sylar sat across each other in an inconspicuous diner nearby. What stood out as the biggest difference between her and Sylar was that he played with his food, and she just ate it for sustenance... Figuratively of course, as those things seemed of little importance. Nonetheless it seemed that most principles could be applied anywhere in life. Everyone needed to eat, even she did; yet, still it was considered a disease when people enjoyed eating too much. Sylar had something akin to violent obesity when it came to killing, he thrived off of it.

Claire ordered for them both as Sylar focused on finding Silva. He was bent over a large map with a pen held loosely in his hand as he slid it fluidly over the paper. The waitress looked at her questioningly when she came up to their table. "Modern art," Claire supplied with a shrug. She almost became fussy when she saw that the waitress's eyes lingered on Sylar longer than they should have, and not in the "wow this guy is weird" way.

The waitress jotted down something down on the next page in her notepad and handed it to Claire, "Give your dad my number, will you sweetie?" She gave her a saccharine smile. At that Claire leapt up from her seat, almost throwing the table over as she did so. She only barely managed to restrain herself from reaching for her gun. How dare this woman not only come on to her lover, but mistake him for her father as well?

"He's my husband," she growled at her, and upon catching the dangerous glint in Claire's eye, the pretty waitress immediately withdrew to the kitchen. Sylar was clearly oblivious to the woman's intentions as he looked up at Claire innocently. He made it seem as if he were too caught up in his search to be bothered by such a situation. When Claire looked away though, she could have sworn she saw a smile start to form at the corners of his mouth.

An awkward silence fell between them as they waited for their food to arrive. It was the first time they had been inside any semblance of an eating establishment since they had met. "What? Did you think that was funny?" Claire asked the man across from her as he sat mutely, clearly trying not to avoid saying something.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied calmly and convincingly. The side of her mouth twitched in anger as she folded her arms across her chest with a huff. At that, Sylar lost it completely and burst into laughter.

"What?" she whined, and tried not to look too bothered.

"You were defending my honor Claire!" he choked between bales of laughter, "And she thought you were just a kid!" He was doubled over now, with one strong hand supporting him on the table. "That's so cute!"

"Yeah well I don't know why you're over there giggling like a little school girl." She gave him a mischievous look. "She thought you were old enough to be my dad." Sylar paled at that and immediately stopped laughing. He thought about their age difference and instantly became stoic. Claire hoped that he didn't take it too personally. Their age difference had honestly not occurred to her since they had met. Though she did still recall the opinion she had of him when they first laid eyes upon each other; she'd been sure that he was some poor girl's hopelessly ridiculous father. Sylar picked up on her last thought and glared at her.

"Oh come on!' she exclaimed. "You have to admit that the glasses did not suit you at all." Sylar's frown deepened at that, he had always liked his glasses, even if they did remind him of mother. The waitress came back then and Sylar quickly scribbled a number on the back of a napkin and handed it to her before she could get away. The woman's face flushed as she walked away and fought back the urge to fan herself, she was literally swooning.

"What the hell was that?" Claire asked him.

"Oh come on!" he mocked her and took a large bite out of his burger, slowly chewing to draw out the moment. He loved seeing her angry. "You know it wasn't my number anyway Claire." He smirked at her and grabbed her knee underneath the table."I just like you when you're angry." Then looked at her with a gleam in his eye and added, "Plus you deserved it."

"Asshole," she murmured around the rim of her glass.

"Claire!" he reprimanded her with a mock sense of surprise. "What would your mother say?"

"She'd ask me what I was doing with a guy like you."

"Well I'll be sure to ask her what she thinks," he hinted.

"What?" His simple statement hit her like a ton of bricks.

"I'll ask her when we get to Odessa," he clarified and gave her a sly grin. "I found Ricardo Silva."

"He's with my mother?" She asked dumbfounded, hoping she heard him wrong. He slowly nodded and Claire slammed her glass down on the table, causing everyone in the joint to stare at them. "He has my mother and my little brother, and we're still in New York having breakfast?" She seethed, every syllable rising in volume.

"Finish your food Claire," at her reproving look he added, "I'll drive fifteen minutes faster."

* * *

"Wouldn't it have been faster to fly?" Claire asked as they exited the car in front of her old home.

"Have you seen the car we're driving?" He gave her a look that told her she was missing something obvious. "No, thanks to my expertise, we got here in less than twelve hours. That's good time. We would have spent that and more at the airport… Unless of course you wanted to pay bio-dad a visit," he smirked and offered her a fake, hopeful expression. Claire playfully slapped him on the arm.

"Behave."

"Alright." He tossed her a gun. "Get your game face on. It's show time."

Claire contemplated whether or not she should ring the doorbell or simply walk in as they stood at the front door of her mother's house. Sylar made the decision for her as he discreetly gained entrance into the Bennet household; gesturing for her to follow. "Honey I'm home," Sylar called out as they stepped over the threshold.

Silva appeared in front of them as he walked out from the living room. "Claire! Just the girl I wanted to see." He froze as he laid eyes upon Sylar. "I didn't expect you to be here though…" He looked pointedly at Sylar.

"Yeah well reality stings like a bitch, doesn't it?" Sylar replied smugly.

"What did you do with my family?" Claire asked menacingly.

"In due time, Claire." Silva's tone had changed since the last time they had met. "You have to do something for me first."

"Too bad, I'm not in the mood for games," she informed him.

"You're an agent right?" he asked in a knowing voice. "You can help me, and them... if you behave." When he spoke he took a few steps toward her. "We wouldn't want a repeat of last time would we?"

"Try me," she dared him.

"Fair enough." Silva was visibly strained as he tried to trigger his ability. When he failed, he turned to Sylar, still trying. "What is this?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

"Oh don't tell me I forgot to mention…" Sylar threw him against the wall with his mind. "I've picked up a few new powers while I've been away. I'm eager to add yours to the latter." He stepped closer to Silva's body that was currently pinned against the plaster in the hallway. "You remember the Haitan right?" he smiled. "I reconsider it if you tell me what you've done with dear Sandra and Lyle."

"No chance," Silva spat defiantly.

"Wrong answer." Sylar aimed at his head and drew a finger through the air.

* * *

"That was a little more anti-climactic than I thought it would be," Claire observed nonchalantly.

"Well what did you want? Were you expecting me to play with him a bit first?" Sylar frowned at her. "I thought you wanted to find your mother." He looked around for something to wipe his hands on, and settled for his shirt.

"Right," she nodded.

Oh great, it wouldn't look suspicious at all, her and Sylar randomly showing up and killing a guy. Meet Sylar everybody! She inwardly groaned as she wondered what she would to say to her family.

"Well off with you then. They're in your dad's old office." Sylar unceremoniously waved her away. "I expected more of a challenge myself." He followed her into a room off of the kitchen. Sure enough, tied up and restrained on the floor were Claire's mother and younger brother. She removed the gag from her mother's mouth while Sylar attended to her brother.

"Are you guys okay?" she asked worriedly. "Did he hurt you?"

"No we're fine," Sandra reassured her as she threw her arms around her daughter. "Oh Claire, I thought I would never see you again." She looked at the man who had entered with her daughter. "Who is this?"

"Oh." Claire paused awkwardly, "This is Sylar."

"Sylar," her mom repeated with wide eyes.

"Yeah…" Claire looked at the ceiling. As if it would help.

"Claire what are you doing running around with him?" She gave her daughter a worried expression. "He's a killer," she whispered so loudly that everyone could hear her.

"Told you!" Claire remarked as she threw Sylar a look. Meanwhile Lyle was glancing between the three people in the room with him.

"This is too weird…" he murmured. "Is someone going to tell me what's going on?"

Claire sighed. She wasn't anticipating answering so many questions. Thankfully Sylar saved her with his usual lack of appropriate behavior.

"Okay who's hungry?" he asked. When everyone stared at him with various looks of disbelief and expressions that shouted the brevity of his inappropriate comment, he sighed and left to clean up his mess.

Claire followed him out of the room. "Well that was tactful," she remarked sarcastically.

"Sorry Claire," he grinned sheepishly, "I'm not too great with meeting new people, if you haven't forgotten." Claire furrowed her brow and gave him a funny look. He seemed oddly Gabrielesque, despite the fact that he was currently heaving a dead body over his shoulder. He grimaced apologetically. "Where's your bathroom?" His tone was polite and sweet. Claire's look of confusion deepened as she tried to figure out what the hell he was doing. To answer her question Sylar picked up a trinket off of the mantle over the fireplace; it turned into a puddle of oddly colored liquid that dripped off his hand.

"Oh," she said flatly, "Gross. I mean, um- Down the hall, second door on the right." The odd look was still plastered on her face as she watched Sylar casually make his way to the bathroom with a freshly dead body as if nothing was amiss.

When she turned around her mother and Lyle were staring at her again. "I guess we need to talk," she admitted hesitantly.

* * *

After Sylar had cleaned up what was left of Ricardo Silva in the living room, Claire helped him make dinner in the kitchen.

When they sat down to eat Lyle and Sandra picked at their food uncomfortably, pushing the contents on their plates around as if it were inedible.

"He's actually a really good cook," Claire tried to lighten up the mood when she noticed they weren't eating.

"Right…" her mother supplied warily. "So- He's your boyfriend?"

"Well I didn't imagine dinner with the parents going quite like this, but yes... in a manner of speaking," Claire replied.

Sylar picked up after her. "It's nice to meet you both," he stated a little stiffly. The awkward manner with which he spoke made him sound insincere, but Sandra ignored him anyway.

"Where's your father?" Claire's mother asked her.

"Umm…" she tried to figure out where to begin. "I don't really know how to say it, so I'll just come out with it. Dad's dead." Her mother didn't seem as surprised as Claire would have thought she'd be. Lyle on the other hand went white.

"Dead?" he asked. "How?"

"That man," Claire started. "The one Sylar saved you from."

"Sylar saved us?" They asked in unison, their tones mirroring each other's doubt.

"Yeah…" Claire cleared her throat, "Anyway. That man? His name is Ricardo Silva. I think he came here in an attempt to find me, his information was obviously a little outdated." Noticing the crestfallen expressions on the faces of the remaining Bennets, she added her apology. "I'm really sorry… but I had to make sure you guys were alright." She stood up and Sylar immediately did the same. "We'll leave now."

"No!" Sandra protested. "Wait Claire…" She grasped at words hopelessly, "Stay." Claire resumed her position at the table.

"The company will be looking for us. They're after me mom." She gave her mother a reassuring look, "We can stay tonight, but we have to leave tomorrow. I couldn't live with myself if either of you got hurt because of me."

"Oh good!" Sandra sighed in relief and attempted a smile. The effort was appreciated even though it failed, that much was expected after hearing the news of her late husband. "I'll go set up the couch," she added and hastily made her escape. Lyle stared at Sylar with a scared and wary expression, he was still white as a ghost.

"I like your car. It's nice," Lyle made a feeble attempt at conversation, but Sylar just gave him a strange look. "I'm going to go… now," he silently asked them for permission with his eyes, when neither seemed phased, he threw out an excuse. "To get sheets… yeah sheets. Okay bye!" he added hurriedly and fled from the room.

"Well… that went well." Sylar's sarcastic comment hung in the air for a few moments. Claire looked at him with a shell-shocked expression. She felt as if she had just told her family that she was a pregnant teen and she was going to drop out of high school. Sylar stood up and held out his arms to her, "Come on Claire."

* * *

Tbc.


	7. Venice

Hey guys, here's the last chapter. There's some Sylaire action in the epilogue

* * *

Claire lingered in the kitchen while her mother prepared a pot of tea; feeling awkward doing nothing for the first time in awhile. They didn't really have anything to talk about, nothing that could be said without bringing in the big guns anyhow. Claire wished she could laugh at how foreign the situation seemed.

Sandra seemed to have forgotten that neither of them really drank tea; it was a formality, a show that she would put on for a perfect stranger. Claire had to face it, maybe she was a stranger now. Her father had kept her relationship with the company civil, she wondered if it were the same with her adoptive family.

"So how did you know to come here Claire?" her mother asked as she poured a cup of something fragrant and slightly floral for her.

"Sylar tracked Silva here from Ottawa," using an ability he killed a little girl for. Claire attempted to give her mother an innocent smile, but she managed only to press her mouth in an even line; it was a ghost of the desired expression.

"Oh?" she asked curiously, "How did he manage that?"

"He can find people by thinking about them," Claire told her honestly, though still trying to dodge the more sketchy details. She groaned inwardly every time her mother asked another question she didn't want to answer.

"Oh well that one would certainly help me sleep at night; would have come in handy when I was raising you kids."

Claire was shocked by her mother's casual acceptance of her explanation, she supposed that was part of being grown up; people knew you had your secrets, and they knowingly played along.

"And this man, Silva was it? Why was he looking for you?"

Claire thought hard about what she could say to that. Why was he there?

"he must have thought he could get some leverage with the company if he kidnapped an agent," Claire guessed. It wouldn't have been a bad plan either… if her grandmother cared about what happened to her at all. The company certainly didn't care what happened to the agents; they were all expendable.

"Wouldn't he have somewhere to go though, something he would rather be doing?" Sandra asked.

The bitter sting of resentment rose up in Claire, and she gave her thoughts over to her emotions. "Everyone who came into contact with the company was destroyed in someway," she spoke absently. "We all had places we would rather have been… things we wanted to do." She thought of her father, and pulled herself back together. "He didn't want to be there," Claire lied to her mother. She knew all too well the feeling of invigoration that washed over you after a kill, after the adrenaline went away. Even if they weren't working for the company, the thrill of the hunt was invigorating.

"You mean your dad?" Sandra stared at her untouched cup of tea. "You don't have to lie to me Claire. Your father lied to me for years. He was good at it. I was better."

"What do you mean?" Claire was genuinely curious.

Sandra shook her head and looked at her daughter flatly, "I knew your father wasn't a paper salesman Claire. Sometimes that man missed important information. It took awhile to piece it all together, but I managed."

Claire was impressed. She assumed that her mother was speaking of the Haitian removing her memories; all the times when her dad would try to hide the truth from him.

"And Lyle?" she asked.

"He pretends to know less than he does."

"Don't we all?" Claire smiled weakly and took a sip of her tea. That sat in a silence that wasn't quite uncomfortable for a few moments.

"So how did you meet Sylar? Not through work I hope."

Claire emotionally grimaced at that. She still hated that she had let the company do those awful things to the man she loved; it was just, but it still felt wrong to her. It was one of many things that made her feel like a monster, and one of the few that she actually felt guilty about. She remembered how hospitable he had been when he fond her outside in Queens.

"He saved me once," Claire offered vaguely.

"Is he your hero?" she teased.

Claire thought about it seriously before answering.

"No," she said with a smile, "No he's my villain."

Her and her mother exchanged mutual looks of understanding. Neither of them were jaded when it came to the loves of their lives, but hey accepted and cared for them besides. When trust was an issue, they made for it with respect.

"I'll miss him," Sandra finally admitted.

"Me too," Claire agreed, "I'm sorry."

Sandra thought she was being unnecessarily sympathetic, and Claire wouldn't tell her the real reason, because she felt partly responsible for her father's death… for the death of this woman's husband. She had burned enough bridges for one lifetime, and she had to deal with that fact for eternity.

"I'm a little tired," she excused herself with the same tone she always used when putting on airs. "Thank you for the tea," she offered with a forced smile, and swiftly made her retreat.

* * *

Claire had a little bit of trouble sleeping that night; it was the first time she had been alone since she had broke Sylar out of Primatech. She still couldn't forget the way her mother and Lyle had been staring at her when she showed up with no immediate explanation after so many years. They looked at her like she was personally responsible for her father's death, like she was a killer. She had tried to convince herself that they were surprised at her sudden appearance, but they had no idea how close they really were to the truth; they were after all her hands that ripped the last seconds of life from her father's body.

She pulled up her knees against her chest and tried not to cry as she held herself together with her arms. She looked around her old room; everything was untouched and in its proper place, from her old quilt that still found itself in her dreams, to the bears from around the world. Every time Claire closed her eyes, she saw herself in the same position, but covered in her father's blood; she was reliving the nightmare.

Claire made a decision, and abruptly tore herself out of bed. She wrapped herself in the robe still hung on the back of her door and silently made her way downstairs. Her mother was always a pretty heavy sleeper, and with her father gone, there was no reason for her to pay attention to which particular floorboards creaked. It felt strange to not have to sneak around her house anymore; it no longer felt like the same place she had grown up at all.

Claire was grateful to see Sylar sleeping soundly exactly where she had left him. She knelt down next to the couch and watched his steady breathing, Sylar was the only familiar thing in her life anymore; the only constant, and he was perfect to her.

"Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to come up here?" he murmured sleepily with eyes still closed. Claire turned a pretty shade of pink as she let it sink in that he had been aware of her presence all along. She could never get the jump on him.

"How did you know?" she asked him.

"I can always tell when you're around Claire." She smiled at that.

"Tell me the truth," she demanded.

"I heard your thoughts," he admitted sheepishly, "I would have come up, but I thought I would let you decide for yourself." He was a little more awake now, though just marginally.

"I'm not going to have sex with you," she gave him a stern warning.

"I know beautiful, now come here," Claire situated herself on the narrow sofa with him and curled into his chest. Sylar soothingly ran his fingers through her hair and held her close.

"What are we going to do now that it's over?" she asked.

"We can go anywhere you want to. I've always wanted to go to Turkey myself, never actually had any incentive to go."

"What's in Turkey?" she asked with a yawn.

"The Mediterranean, beaches, the black sea, and good cigarettes," he answered.

"Cigarettes will kill you, you know," she smiled against the cotton of his shirt.

Sylar laughed softly in reply, "by the time that I'm two-hundred, I could easily be up to a half million failed attempts."

"Gross," Claire wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Miss Claire Petrelli thinks I'm gross, I never thought I'd see the day," he teased. Claire pulled back slightly as she registered what he had just called her.

"We're in Odessa right now, so technically I'm a Bennet at the moment," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh yeah?" he gave her a heart-melting smile, "and what does Claire Bennet think of me?"

"I think you're perfect," she told him.

"Perfect huh? Well if I'm so perfect for you then why don't you marry me?" he asked. Claire froze, she wasn't expecting _that_.

"Marry you?" she asked with a slight stutter, "can we do that?"

"Hmm…" he pondered her question, "Well seeing as I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, we might as well. It probably won't be official though, because let's face it… we're both wanted felons."

"That was a really weak proposal," she informed him. "Could we go to Paris for our honeymoon?"

"Paris?" Sylar sniffed in obvious distaste. Claire who was expecting as much from him, wound her hands around his neck and kissed him deeply; running a hand up the inside of his thigh. He groaned softly, "Paris you say?" he managed between feverish kisses and nuzzled her jaw to whisper huskily in her ear, "and what do I get in return for my generosity?"

Sylar shivered when he caught a bit of imagery from her mind. "Paris it is," he agreed hastily, "any chance I'll get a little preview tonight?"

"What did I tell you?" Claire chastised him.

"Oh so you don't want to wake up your mom and Lyle huh?" he ran a hand underneath her robe and her mouth fell open slightly. "I can fix that." He told her, and scooped up her tiny body in his arms, snatching a blanket off the back of the couch in the process.

"You're strangely romantic tonight," Claire mentioned as he carried her outside to make love under the stars.

"Oh come on Claire, I still have some compassion buried in here somewhere."

Sylar laid her down on the blanket he had spread out on the grass, and untied the front of her robe.

"I love you," Claire whispered.

"I would do anything for you Claire… to you," he told her.

* * *

Claire woke up to birds singing and the crisp morning air feeling too cold against her skin. She yawned and turned toward the only source of heat with reach. It felt as if she were still outside; she opened up her eyes in confusion.

"Sylar?" she asked, knowing full well that he was lying next to her.

"Present," he had an arm slung over her waist as they both lay outside together… stark naked. Claire leaned in to kiss him good morning until she realized the sun was out. She cursed the morning sky and frantically searched the area around her, trying to find her clothes.

"You didn't wake me up!" she complained. "Honestly I don't really want my family to find me and my boyfriend naked in their backyard first thing in the morning." Sylar picked up the slip of silk she had been wearing the previous night, dangling it from his hand with a knowing look.

"That's fiancée Claire," he corrected, "and do you really think I would let anyone else see you like this? You're mine."

His possessive streak elicited strange feelings in her body that made Claire smile and her blood warm a few degrees. She giggled a little and brushed back a lock of Sylar's hair that had gone rogue in his sleep. He glared at her playfully, "Who says I didn't want it like that?" he growled, and rolled onto his back; taking her with him, where he kissed her passionately.

Sylar held up a finger to her lips when she tried to kiss him again, and frowned regretfully, "It's about that time baby doll," he sat up with her still on his lap and helped put on her robe for her before replacing his own clothing. He was always completely attentive to her, though he often tried to hide it. It didn't really matter anyway, he was in charge; whether Claire was willing to admit it or not.

"Breakfast?" Claire asked him as he gathered up the blanket from the lawn.

"I'm making you waffles," he told her. Claire beamed at him, she remembered when he had made her waffles the first morning after they had met; only then he had done so as Gabriel, now he was Sylar; he was hers. Gabriel would never have made love to her under the stars.

"You don't think so?" Sylar interrupted her reflection. "I think he liked you more than he let on, "he grinned at Claire; it was a look full of double meaning as he backed her up against the counter to kiss her again.

"Gross Claire," Lyle's voice whined behind them, "in the kitchen?"

Claire laughed at the good albeit brotherly nature of his comment. It was weird for her to look at Lyle as they both grew older; she was reluctant to notice that he was becoming less of the annoying younger sibling she had grown up with, and growing more into the protective kin type. In this case, Lyle obviously couldn't do anything except complain about Claire and Sylar's affectionate display in the kitchen, but he would have wanted to.

The thought of what Sylar could do to her little brother sent shivers down her spine. Sylar noticed her distress and reassuringly put his hands on her shoulders, "Claire you know I wouldn't," he crooned and pulled her into a comforting embrace. Claire glanced at Lyle over Sylar's shoulder; he was looking at the strange man in question with a bewildered expression.

When Claire caught his eye, he shook his head in inevitable consent and made his way to the counter to start of a pot of coffee. "Don't forget your waffles," he supplied helpfully, and retreated to sit at the kitchen table with a newspaper. Sylar released Claire from his arms, upon which he attended to the waffle that needed flipping. Claire made a mental note that he coked with his hands instead of using his powers.

"I use my hands for most things," he addressed he silent observation.

"Yeah right," Claire stated emphatically, "I bet you're just not fine tuned enough for the job," she teased, expecting proper punishment for her abusive comment.

"Not fine tuned enough?" he repeated in surprise and looking as if he could have swallowed his own tongue at the thought of being lacking in any way, shape, or form. "Eating is one of few things that every species must partake in," he began a speech as he expertly split open an egg the way he would a skull, "it only makes sense to cook the traditional way," he continued as he made the next waffle entirely hands-free, throwing in some artificial heat from his hand to make it cook faster.

Claire noticed the fire he emitted from his palm, "Where did you get that one?" she asked accusingly. Claire didn't recall Sylar telling her that he had pyrokinesis, she thought of her birth mother Meredith for a moment.

"Did you know she worked or the company too Claire? That was before I got there of course."

You killed her?" Claire frowned; she'd liked Meredith the few times they had actually spoken with each other. At the time Claire thought she was a little weird, but that was before she knew about abilities, specials, and the company.

"Actually I got it from your uncle down in Level 5. I prefer a little fight in them, it makes it more fun." Claire rolled her eyes at that, now he was trying to impress her. "It's a new one, I'm glad to see it's working out so well. I haven't had the chance to use it much," he continued to boast.

"So…" Lyle interrupted their exchange for the second time that morning, "you read minds," he guessed as casually as if he were trying to figure out what sport someone played in high school.

"Among other things," Sylar replied meaningfully, and upon catching Lyle's slightly troubled expression added, "I can hear you up there too." He gave the boy a knowing smile, "I won't tell," he assured him. Claire watched their brief exchange suspiciously; when no one responded to he expectant look she became frustrated.

"Would you stop doing that?" she exclaimed.

"I'm going to look into ability sharing; it's harder to turn off than you would think," Sylar informed her in his defense.

"Parkman managed," she quipped.

"Matt Parkman was an idiot. We've established this. He could no easier control his ability than he could his life," he sniffed with contempt.

Claire shrugged in defeat and poured them both of cup of coffee. "Do you want some Lyle?" she asked her brother as she pulled out a third mug.

"No, I made it so I could watch you drink it," he said sarcastically.

"Since when did you start drinking coffee anyway?" Claire was unfazed by the lip he was giving her.

"I dunno… since I grew up," he replied as if she were missing something very obvious. "I'm in college now by the way."

"Right sorry… it's been awhile since I've been home," Claire said in a far away voice. She hadn't thought of the possibility that Lyle and her mother would be upset with her for being away for so long, after all; they didn't know why she had left in the first place.

"Are you sure you aren't staying?" Sandra asked them both as she entered the kitchen. Claire noticed how unusually well-groomed her mother had made an effort to be so early in the morning. She hacked it up to the fact that there was a strange new albeit attractive man in the house for the first time in a long while as well. She wondered briefly if her mother had made eyes at her future husband, and smiled inwardly at the thought. She wondered how old he must be and glanced over to assess his age.

"Thirty-two," Sylar offered. Claire's mouth fell open at that, she quickly covered up her surprise by joking, "You're old," she told him with a faint smile. Sylar frowned in response.

"In a hundred years it won't matter," he remarked. Claire thought about that. For being over thirty, she supposed he looked incredible. "I knew you would come around," he grinned and placed a kiss on her cheek. Both Claire's mother and her little brother shifted uncomfortably at the display. She figured they would have assumed he was referring to his age. The fact of the matter remained that Claire was still very young by anyone's standards; she already looked extremely young for her age.

Claire supposed her ability must have manifested when she was only sixteen or seventeen years old… eternal jailbait; what a thought. She looked at Sylar's face, only to see that he wasn't bothered at all by her realization; that was a little weird she admitted. Claire had been angered by the waitress at the diner for her assumption that Sylar was Claire's father, but she supposed it was a fair evaluation given the facts. Realistically Sylar was sixteen or seventeen years older than she.

As Claire drank her coffee thoughtfully, she gazed down at her hand, and wondered what it would look like with a ring. Sylar would like that, she supposed. For him to actually have proof that she belonged to him, eternally; something much ore tasteful than a tacky tattoo; eternity was kind that way. She wondered how long tattoos took to fade after a person was dead, but shook the thought of; deciding hat body decomposition was not something to ponder so early in the morning.

Sylar then put a plate of waffles down on the table which everyone sat around, and added a pitcher of homemade syrup. Claire stifled a giggle at how domestic it all seemed, not even her mother made her own syrup; she wasn't complaining though. Sylar actually appeared to be an essential part of her family.

"32 years of domesticity, and don't you forget it Claire," he said playfully as he took his seat between her and her mother. "So Sandra," he began as he turned toward her, "Claire tells me you raise championship show dogs, you must tell me all about it."

"You can't be serious," Claire interjected.

"Oh I am quite serious Claire; don' be rude. You should never miss out on an opportunity to learn something new." Sandra looked flattered that he had taken an interest in conversing with her. Claire on the other hand groaned inwardly at the fact that Sylar was _perhaps _unintentionally charming the socks of god only knows what else off of her mother. Instead of dwelling on the situation at hand, for she had a feeling it was Sylar's way of getting back at her for the 'old' comment, she tended to the sinfully good breakfast that he had dished up for her while she tried to tune out the supernaturally boring topic of conversation. Claire smiled when she noticed that Lyle was doing very much the same thing; she would miss being home.

* * *

"So where do you plan on going Claire? You can't run forever," Sandra told her daughter as her and Sylar prepared for their departure.

"I can't tell you any specifics mom, you're safer this way." Her mother gave a weak smile that told her she was not convinced. It was the same smile Claire had seen her mother give her father when she asked him how his day at work had been. It was an accepted fact for both her mother and Lyle, that there were some things that they never would find out about, and they would probably be happier that way. It didn't mean they liked the way things were, but it was natural for them, the very stigma that their family was built around.

"I worry about you Claire," Sandra told her daughter. "Call me when you get there, let me know you're ok?" she requested. Claire half wondered if her mother was just playing a role. She imagined that if she herself were in the same position, she would be trying to hurry her away as fast as possible. Claire figured her mother was just curious as to whether or not the company would be paying her a visit, still she took pleasure in the loosely constructed façade, just like they always did; and pulled her mother in for a hug.

"I love you mom," she told her sincerely, "I wish we could stick around too." She pulled back then and turned to her little brother, "and you too Lyle, come here," Claire ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Stay in school, or I'll have to come back and make you." Lyle gave an uneasy laugh at her statement, knowing full well that it was true.

"And the sad part is that you actually scare me a little bit. I'll miss you Claire… even though you are a freak." Claire laughed self-consciously. She knew that he said it jokingly, but it was one of many unspoken truths in the Bennet family. She probably wouldn't have come back if they didn't need saving. Even in death, it seemed that Silva was messing with her life and her family, only now she couldn't do anything about it.

Sylar stepped forward to say his goodbyes. Despite the fact that he was the most charming man Claire had ever met; the awkwardness was still apparent in the manners that Claire's family used around him. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance Mrs. Bennet," he laid a kiss on her hand, upon which she blushed furiously. Then he held up the set of keys for the Audi. "Hey kid," he addressed Lyle and tossed them to him, "you can have it if you drive us to the airport."

"You're kidding," Lyle looked at him in awe.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Sylar replied flatly as they left the house.

* * *

Sylar had blindfolded her before they left the hotel, he had prepared her with only the advice that she dress up more than usual for the night's event. It wasn't uncommon for them to attend a ballet, a movie premiere, or some overly fancy banquet. Sylar did everything in grandeur; it was probably because he considered himself to be the best, therefore everything he did had to live up to that standard. Once again though, Claire wasn't complaining. Sylar had said that tonight was special, and she really had no idea what to expect.

I guess it would be kind of useless for me to ask where we're going," Claire thought aloud.

"Always impatient," he scolded her, "I'm in charge Claire." She found herself wishing that they had stayed at the hotel room. She could think of a number of things she would like him to be in charge of while she was blindfolded behind closed doors; things that never got old. Instead they were going out again, as usual.

"I don't like surprises," Claire pouted, knowing she wouldn't get what she really wanted from him.

"Liar," he growled in her ear and possessively scooped her up in his arms.

"I hear voices," Claire told him, "Can't we stay in tonight? I'm all blindfolded, and my senses are on edge… and I was hoping we could spend some time alone…" she hinted playfully.

"Later," he replied simply and put her down. Claire was officially surprised, that was the first time he had turned down an offer of that nature. She decided to focus on the situation at hand instead of worry about it though… he had said later. Claire tried her best to assess her surroundings without her sense of sight. She was overwhelmed by the number of things that seemed to be happening in front of her, and she was starting to get uncomfortable being in the dark in so public a place.

Sylar came up from behind and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist; brushing aside her immaculately curled hair to whisper something in her ear. "Are you ready Claire?" he asked, and her entire world froze. She nodded slowly, wondering what was to come. "Good, now hold out your hand. I have something for you," Claire did as he asked with no hesitation. Neither the texture nor the weight of the object was familiar to her. "Alright in thirty seconds you can take off the blindfold. We're going to play a little hide and seek."

Claire laughed lightly and turned around to kiss him, but instead she found herself disappointed with the lack of Sylar she felt there.

"Sylar?" she called, but received no answer. She frowned and ripped off the blindfold. Her eyes were wide as she took in her surroundings and all of the things happening around her. Everywhere she looked, there were hundreds of people dressed in extravagant costumes or ball gowns, some were dancing, some were making conversation; a couple people were even breathing fire. Sylar had brought her to play hide and seek in the middle of a giant masquerade. It was so like him to give her such a challenge, and it was flattering that he expected her to be able to succeed. She looked down at the object in her hand and smiled, it was a beautiful mask that matched perfectly with the green silk of her gown; she put it on and stepped into the chaos before her.

At first, Claire didn't know where to begin; she was overwhelmed by all of the colors and activity that had given the plaza life. The situation reminded her of the night she found Sylar, with the jazz festival. Only in the way that her life had taken a dramatic spin and ended up so much more complicated than she ever would have imagined, so had her memories. She pushed her way through the crowd, thankful that she still had a gun strapped to her thigh; she had changed with her life over the last year or two.

Claire was beginning to become frustrated with the number of people who were getting too close for comfort. She would have preferred not to maim anybody as she was quite sure that she would look out of place even in this crowd with blood on her dress. That's when she saw the large clock tower at the head of the square. Of course, Sylar wouldn't have placed himself in the middle of such chaos and mediocrity; he was a creature of habit. Claire made her way toward the tower hastily.

A sign at the base of the old stone structure declared it to be strictly off-limits to visitors, as it was a historical site. Claire thought it appropriate that she should look for Sylar in a place that had stood the test of time; though she still hadn't figured out the reason behind their game.

Claire must have ascended a dozen set of rickety old stairs before she reached the final landing positioned behind the face of the giant clock. Upon conducting an examination of her surroundings, she found that she was mistaken when she thought she had reached the top. A well-worn ladder on the East wall gave way to a trap door in the ceiling. She looked at the unsteady object doubtfully, unsure of whether or not it would hold her weight, but she took off her shoes and climbed the old thing anyway.

She wasn't surprised when the reached the roof and found Sylar with his back turned to her; he was gazing down at the crowd below.

"You almost had me fooled there for a minute," Claire announced her presence as she pulled herself up through the opening.

Sylar was sporting his usual all black Armani suit, but he wasn't wearing a mask like everybody else. "I have you all figured out," she told him.

Sylar extended a hand for her to take, and gestured for her to join him.

"Look at them Claire," he began. "They're all wearing masks. Everyone in the world…. They hide who they really are." He placed his hand over hers, "today they can be whoever they want to be," he told her dreamily. "They can be special," he finished and turned toward her to gently unfasten the black ribbon that secured the mask to her face. He carelessly tossed it over the side of the building without looking away from her eyes. "But you don't have to hide from me Claire. Every single one of those people will be gone someday, but we have forever. That crowd… so many thoughts, so much beauty, such talent, but they will always find themselves unhappy. Do you know why?"

Claire had no answer for him, she was caught in the beauty of his words; the truth of them. Sylar reached into his pocket for something then and placed a kiss on her right hand. "They'll never have you Claire, and I get to keep you for eternity. I told you that it wouldn't be official, but I wanted it to be real for you. So what do you say Claire, Vuoi prendere me come tuo marito?" He didn't smile at her, just waited for her answer expectantly. Claire almost forgot to breathe, she was about to agree to spend the rest of time itself with a person.

"Che Faccio," she answered quietly. He grinned at her then and gently slipped a delicate antique ring on her finger. Claire examined her hand, and marveled at the foreign object that now seemed to have found its proper place. It was a gold band with an ornate silver and diamond setting in the center; it was perfect. She could have cried, but instead she pulled him down for a soft kiss. "Forever?" she asked quietly.

"For as long as you'll have me."

* * *

Epilogue:

Claire knocked on the front door of Angela Petrelli's apartment near the Louvre. She answered with a fake smile, well-dressed and stern looking as ever. "Claire," she breathed, "What brings you to Paris?"

"Actually, you" she gave a clandestine grin upon seeing the confused expression on her grandmother's face. "I've brought someone to see you!"

Sylar stepped out from the hall, and Angela's expression immediately turned to fear. Claire could see her looking for an escape, even as Sylar stood before her.

"Such a pleasure to see you Angela, aren't you going to invite me in? It's been so long," he said silkily.

"Come in," she choked out. Claire couldn't believe this. The woman actually thought she was going to talk them out of what they were about to do; the second reason they had come to Paris. Angela directed them to a sitting area near the window. "Please… make yourselves comfortable," she said uncomfortably and picked up her tea cup and saucer from the end table next to her. Claire watched in interest as she took a sip of the beverage and the small china clattered with her nerves.

"You seem on edge," Claire frowned, "Is everything ok?" she inquired sweetly.

"Yes. Yes everything's fine." Her voice was hoarse with fear. "I wasn't expecting company."

"I know," Sylar drawled with a genuine laugh. "Don't you just hate it when people pop in and surprise you like that?"

"What do you want?" Angela snapped, and let the façade fall.

Sylar looked at her meaningfully.

"Just get on with it then," she demanded impatiently.

"What's it like?" Sylar asked, "Always knowing the future; having everything be… absolute?"

"Not as effective as you would think," she sneered and tried a different approach. "I know your type Sylar; you're lost. You worry that you'll be alone. That's why you need this; you need to be certain that Claire won't leave you."

"Nice try," he scoffed and reveled in the sounds of grinding bone that rang through the air. Claire watched a little sadly; not for the death of her grandmother, she doubted anyone would miss her. Even her beloved sons would probably celebrate her passing. Claire was always the spectator when Sylar hunted; she felt useless and insignificant.

"I'll admit Claire, this one was more for me then for you," Sylar told her in response to her thoughts.

Claire sighed, "I thought we'd agreed that you would stop doing that," she muttered.

He smiled mischievously, "Actually you told me I would stop; I never said I would."

Claire contemplated reaching for her gun and giving him something to wipe that smirk off of his face. Sylar cringed as he imagined how it would feel.

"If you're trying to convince me to make it up to you, you're not doing a very good job," he finished his work and stood up to wipe his hands on the front of his jeans.

Claire sashayed across the room and grasped the collar of Sylar's shirt firmly in both hands, "and what would you have me do?" She breathed against his neck. Sylar meant to take her on the floor, but stopped when he looked down and saw Angela's dead body lying there. He sighed, but then perked up when an idea hit him, "are you feeling bold Claire?" he asked her.

"Always," she looked at him suspiciously, wondering what he could possibly have in mind.

Sylar cast a thick curtain of flame along half of the apartment in an impressive display of pyrotechnics, effectively concealing the dead and bleeding body of Angela Petrelli.

Claire's eyes grew wide as she stared at the result of his power.

"I've always been one for a clean job," he told her and pushed her onto her knees. "Make it up to me?" he suggested.

Claire smiled nervously as she unfastened his jeans. She grasped his thick member firmly in her hands and wondered how in the hell she was going to fit in her mouth. For as long as they had been together, Claire had never done this for him; Sylar was a straight to business kind of guy, but it was her turn to show him the things she would do for him.

She licked her lips and started by placing a kiss on the tip, taking a moment to tentatively taste it. She looked up at him for approval, but he had his eyes closed tight; concentrating on what she was doing for him. So Claire continued. She ran her tongue along his entire length before taking the first few inches in her mouth. He shuddered and threaded his still blood covered hands through her hair, trying his hardest not to force her down on him.

Claire gained confidence in what she was doing from the sounds she was eliciting from Sylar, and pulled back before taking the rest of him in her mouth.

"God Claire..." he muttered, "You're so fucking amazing, I love you..." His voice was heady and marred by his lustful groans. "Please more," he requested urgently.

"She hollowed out her cheeks and slowly pulled back, upon which Sylar couldn't take it anymore and thrust all of the way into her mouth, his hands securing her head in place. Claire was thankful she didn't have a gag reflex as he entered her again and again. Meanwhile the building was falling down around them in embers, and burning chunks of plaster.

Finally Sylar released her, and let her finish the job. She slid a hand across his wet length in strokes timed with her mouth. Sylar tensed and grasped a handful of her hair, letting it slide between his fingers. Claire glided him back into her mouth and he came, hard, as he shuddered; his member still twitching in her hand.

Claire stood back up and tucked him away. "We should get out of here," she informed a slightly dazed Sylar as she pulled him out the door of the burning apartment. "Then you can make it up to me." It was awhile before he found his voice again.

"Anything you say," he finally responded reverently as they stared at the burning building from the street. "God I love Paris."


End file.
